It takes someone who has felt the burn of light to know the comforts of shadow.
To stand on the edge, look down at all that is, and question:
If A bright fall will feed a shadow until it knows blood by heart and forms to shape pain,
A Dark fall will be consumed by that which is everything. And Nothing.
Do you sate that which hungers? Or watch it envelop all it sees?
Wrapped in darkness does one truly know the light,
For it cast's the cruelest Shadow.
I trace mine with Dark eyes far and wide as the sun mourns;
Away, Above, Behind; everyday it watches, and then runs.
Darkness consoles the lost as It casts no Shadow. It stands above no man.
The Moon offers only the light of others, Never it's own.
A reflection of what is said to be true,
But then light comes again, a new day for old pain.
And man is blinded with light and forgets the Shadow. The Night.
And so a lie is reborn. For sight is a lie if you accept that which is seen only by shine.