On this our darkest night,

aurora stains the mountains red,

the impatient blade of morning

bleeds the starlight pale.

No staunch defence

could stem such blackness bled,

nor bar the shaft of golden day,

that all of life should fail.

 

And once so sure, our hearts entwined

beat the very same,

that spinning in their union

no imposter could unbind.

Yet still the blade of cursed time

split the veil and came

that all which once would always be

was lost to never find.  

 

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