solar sun moon lunar light dark vibrant melancholy cold warm passionate
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Trying to keep her happy,
He died for her each night.
His shadow over taking her light.
Each night he heard her crying softly.
The cold tears of the moon,
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.
