The tendril,
deep and dark;
a secret thing,
twisting in the earth.

It feeds, silent,
draws its strength
from the unlit places
of the heart, the mind.

Wickedness,
a hidden root,
strong in its unseen grip.
It binds, it strangles.

But then,
a flicker,
a dawn.
A light slips in
through the earth.

A recognition,
a whisper,
a name.
The shadow is formed.

And upon the touch of light,
upon speaking of the name,
the root shall quake.
It shall shrink,
it shall loosen.

Dissolved.
No longer a secret,
no longer unseen.
before the crush of its power,
it withers.

Revealed,
it desiccates,
it crumbles into dust.
A memory of darkness,
nothing more.