Through cracks, splits in the barrier, I feel the touch of light.

Are they merely beams? Raw, living energy alighting my bare flesh? Perhaps it is the muses Themselves, their radiant gold locks brushing warmly against me.

The sun now adjourns! Clouds have rented the two glows' property up there! The tendrils, all Aglow And bright as gold, depart. Now waiting, for I know the next sun or moon shall make its Round.

Melancholy, thoughtful, leveled, the moon shows bright. Soothing patches enchant my world and Yours as well. 

One day, you and I both know, a light will remain. Calm, cold bleaks of dark blue. Burning, Passionate incandescence.

Which shall you have?