The horizon sun refuses to die,
bravely clinging as it's slipping.
White ancient ships drifting in the azure,
while stalwart crags rise among them.
My old friends from another time.
The dying sun breaths its last.
Nature mirrors that glorious death.
Darkness has come, death is here.
Out of the fiery ashes there arises,
the silky, pale pool of light,
washes everything in a soft, milky delight.
Countless slivers of diamonds gracefully veil,
the solar tomb of the deity.
This age old ritual forever binds,
the celestial orb and the solar deity,
to an endless contest of day versus night.
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