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While I Sit Here
by
Monorum Horl
Two fields of flowers float abroad,
amongst a cast of shadows and mists;
two crooked passages
lie nakedly between.
Facing the western heavens
ranges of mountains blacken
the red sun's light,
and, imagining beyond it,
the orange horizon connects
the sky to the earth.
The night is not yet cold
and closing in were the passes,
now made of dusk,
separating the flowers' entangled thorns.
I, befriended by the serenity
of lonesomeness,
linger about the moon
to hear the pleading voices of the night.
My home, away from the many
contradictions of reality;
from sufferings,
from agony;
engulfed by the sounds of nature's music
in resistance to harsh temptations of life.
The night has risen cold,
and the still autumn breezes
rock the tranquility
within this place and time.
I think of how all beings
were like bright stars;
my loneliness and I were dark ones.
But when I reflect
upon all stars of the universe
I smile at most
my own.
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