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I drink to the dead
Who bares the moon on his chest.
Bright blessings, good fortune,
May your soul get some rest.
The waxing of your light
pulls on my tears.
The waning of your presence
awakens all my fears.
It's frightening in the dark
alone in my mind.
Gazing on your smiling face
so scared of what I'll find.
The lunar glow beckons my heart
yet repelled by the frigid stare.
What is it that you want from me?
Confused by the casual air.

By Alove

© 2008 Alove (All rights reserved)


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