03-13-2024, 06:23 PM
![[Image: 4a1d29ed3a57833384ace802468055ba.jpg]](https://i.gyazo.com/4a1d29ed3a57833384ace802468055ba.jpg)
. . .
Thirty-seven turns of autumn. I wonder if... I wonder if years down the line if all is in my reach, my grasp so full and overflowing, that the sunrise will still be as beautiful. Thirty-seven turns of autumn, each lonelier than the last. Each somehow more disappointing, overburdened. Each cold and wishful for night.
. . .
He is no longer joyous
by the rising sun,
moved not by its run
from east to west.
Unsure now, when it sets
when it is done
because he had his fun,
thoughts of its shine less.
How can one bore of the sun's rays?
Blest at moon's lights
and cerulean waning and lays
in darkness, scorched no more by bright
unwavering love painted during Sae,
settling winter, plunged into eternal night.
Unsure now, when it sets
when it is done
because he had his fun,
thoughts of its shine less.
How can one bore of the sun's rays?
Blest at moon's lights
and cerulean waning and lays
in darkness, scorched no more by bright
unwavering love painted during Sae,
settling winter, plunged into eternal night.