The love will burn, far and bright,

penetrating the darkest night.

Though demons hate, and bark, and bite,

not one can stand righteous, white light.

As a beacon, the sun will stand,

heart in earth, and key in hand.

Shinning love, to all above,

to fill them with the purest love.

Find the hearts, make them glow,

and conduits, to love’s argent flow.

But most hearts are hard and small and deep,

Too far beneath their dark heaps,

Of angry lies, betrayal, and hurt,

Finding home in false comfort.

At this time, the nights of old,

patiently wait as love unfolds,

upon a land of lifeless life,

that only finds its joy in spite.

And as light burns, and its clock runs out,

the nights of old will crowd about.

Upon the edge of light they dance,

biding time until their chance.

When nights shall rein, and humans reap,

the long lost love the dark now keeps.

To preserve love’s light, how much would we trade?

but even stars, do one day fade.