Thinking of How Your Hand Trembled at my Touch
I wonder,
Does the Darkness tremble as it reaches for the Light?
Rising on its tiptoes
Grasping for that which its placed on a pedestal.
How high the granite spire of limerance glows
Illuminated behind golden rays
So bright, illusion glistens in the heat.
The Light reaches down,
Intending to spread warmth, healing.
Finding bruises in the Darkness
Unhealed wounds from ages past
Its touch turns the black throbbing of night,
To dull, waning purple hues
Pinkening as flowers dew
