When the sun does rise my dearest darkness does fall, her soft shadow and velvet lines fading to light. I stare from the window and watch her go, somehow I wish for her return, for the lights gaze to fade back into her black haze.
The wind whistles across the dry, burnt grass towards my window above, it carries the scent of life beyond. When it comes and when it blows I stare blindly towards its whispers, waiting for my dearest darkness to come again that she might sooth my ears and soften my touch; in her fold I find our peace of the consoled requiem; no longer shall I wait, yet day by day I must wait, for her return is marked only by the setting of the sun.
The wind whistles across the dry, burnt grass towards my window above, it carries the scent of life beyond. When it comes and when it blows I stare blindly towards its whispers, waiting for my dearest darkness to come again that she might sooth my ears and soften my touch; in her fold I find our peace of the consoled requiem; no longer shall I wait, yet day by day I must wait, for her return is marked only by the setting of the sun.
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