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MoonSpell
The sun has receded past a
wondrous landscape
that within her periphery has exemplified longevity
as her master trait.
Her resultant shadows have blanketed the offspring city
and her ancestral moonlights pale glow
transfers a balance of energy
to those of us who have otherwise
lost our way.
The dark of night is when lonely tortured souls
venture out into an unchanging state of total black,
and at least to others,
their tears remain unfelt and unseen.
The dark identifies with those obedient servants
it holds within its grasp,
and the two in their incestuous relationship
can find renewed companionship
in the vast and perpetual emptiness.
The lure to embrace the light
is hollowed by the evolutionarily ingrained
pain of fire
burning against pale skin,
and the laughs of the carefree at play.
Only night is quiet and desolate enough
to listen without casting judgment
and will remain unimpeachable for us
whenever we are in need.
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