Lo, the Gloaming.
Days and nights are barren and cold.
Neither shelter nor haven found within.
Each gale, each raindrop, each eye,
Scorches the mind, the soul, the skin
The mind is fiend!
It feasts upon itself where only bits remain.
Corners never turn - ahead is as behind.
The withered soul is lost in the catacombs
of All Time is One
Fiend is friend and friend is fiend.
Each new is old, each old is hurt.
Limbs ache and the soul is heavy,
From the battles waged within.
Lo, the dawn of Day breaks!
The weight of a thousand humours cast to the wind.
It caresses each timid reed of pain.
When Fear stands naked and alone -
Its dormancy not clemency -
It rages to defend its own.
As Fear’s battle rages anew,
Dawn extends each eye, each raindrop, each gale,
To soothe the battle-weary soul.
A touch shimmers on the skin...
A word is carried on gossamer wings...
To a parched mind kept hidden from the world.
Lo, the light of Day shines!
The ache of a thousand hurts purged to its rays,
Thawing the skin, the soul, the mind.
It is the melting of dank fear,
That heals an unsheltered soul nee barren and cold.
Now catacombs are mere whispers of pain past,
As each Day grows silently longer.
From the gloaming, hope glimmers from a rainbow
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