The stars hang low
like falling ashes, kissing our faces.
The moon stands strong,
so beautifully solemn like a snowflakes graces.
The rain hits its grounded reflection
as if the puddles deserve the abuse given.
The suns' chivalry will shine soon.
He will conquer with the dawn.
This girl knows it's true.
If the still smoldering ashes singed our skin and stung our eyes. . .
I wonder what the sunlight will feel like.
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