Over the yellow sunset horizon, a dimmed light takes in its last peek, like the smoldering volcano covering with smoke, its peak. Ensnared, my eyes cant pull away, from the now fading display.
Be it as it may, but tommorow will bring another day, to see the beauty, to unveil, the magnificent tale, of the siblings we dumbed down to white and black,
the one that shines bright and the one that gets a lot of flack. One we call the backdrop of the sun, the other the stage of the moon, Both playing the same eternal tune, one dancing with a swift blade, one flailing with a gun.
The moon and the sun, the soldier and the nun, the worshiper and the preacher, neither has the hope to reach her, the mistress in the sky, whichever it may be, its left up to destiny, we love them until we die, they stay stoic and alive.
But like day turns to night, like night turns to day, we only pray, with dimishing might, that what's dead can come back to life, that what's left behind is reachable again with no strife, that love is pain and pain we have, and what we have will fill our heart to only halve,
the suffering we took, the parts of it shook, the love that kept us on the hook, so we can die alone and happy.