Sunflower
Very few acknowledge that the day really begins at night, At the stroke of midnight, the wings of morning take flight, Leaving darkness behind, for the resplendence of the sun, And dejection too finally gives way, to the possibilities of
Princess of Light
The deepest black always begins as the lightest gray, Yielding a little every time nights prowls around for prey, With every changing shade, you wonder if gain is really a sacrifice, Like losing a single brick, in an already crumbling
Delirium
Silently through the night, her formless hands creep, Searching, feeling for him, through the lands of sleep, The darkness around, its not an easy rival to win, So, finding him, she waits, for the right time to begin. She knocks
Mortal Angel
If such things were true, an angel’s life should be a fairytale, But you don’t find them more different than this one’s tale, Like those winged-one, you don’t see her fly away, And you begin to really believe she is