Moonlight stream memories through the sculptured jalousies,
Casting shadows of what was once
Happy memories of laughter… life…
and love
But shadows are but shadows… unreal… an image
that disappears as Stygian mists enshroud
the beams of light in exchange for their rays
of cold darkness;
to provide respite from painful pats by their
shadow… of nothingness, now.
Still life does not seek the moonlight nor does she seek the blankets of the midnight.
It awaits the sun… the truth.
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