The glory of the morning light,
Which brings mourning of the night,
The last midnight would die softly,
The birth of light is the death of night,
Of the enchanting moon that holds the magic of life,
Souls of the parted dance once again,
The angels bless the bones of the silenced,
The sleepers awaken,
They are the guardians of this earths' memoirs,
They guard the past of pain, war, hate, joy and laughter,
They leave memories on the lips of those left behind and bathed in the light,
They carress the shadows that envelop the world,
The ancient ones,
Yet they are not immortal,
When the gates close,
When the gallows of time fall,
When the sun surfaces,
The memoirs and then entities will be touched by decay once again,
And those who recognize beauty,
They mourn the night,
They mourn the glory.

Contents Copyright 2003 Kayleigh C., All Rights Reserved.

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