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Quiet lurks. I stand.
Darkness is my blanket, but I long to be warm in bed.
The black echoes within itself, but I long for the music of day.
Not wails of sorrow nor cries of anguish.
No. the piercing screech of the shadows wounds my heart.
The carefree notes of light seem nonexistent in this gloomy paradox.
I pity the blaring silence of night. But no. I do not fear it.
Shadows fly. I still stand.
Darkness is my safety, but I long for the danger of light.
The black is simple, but I long for the intricacy of day.
Not billows of shade nor the crisp opaque shade.
No. the undemanding simplicity of the shadows slices my soul.
The perilous world, where light breaths, seems so far away.
I pity the simple color of night. But no. I do not fear it.
But when the sun introduces itself to the new day, I find myself once more.
Longing. Needing. Desiring.
The pitiful dark of night.