I was sitting in a park whispering a poem to myself

"Morn came and went—and came, and— I stop not remembering

Micheal: "brought no day"

I look back at the man behind me who finished the sentence. I had to tear my eyes from the scar on the width of his neck

Micheal: "Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light…" "Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black." He spoke lazily and unhurriedly

I stand quickly

Micheal: "sit!"

I flinch. Knowing this man was dangerous.