And so we run, again; the light
chasing us into the dusk where the shadows unite.
These are the sunless lands,
where the stars twinkle in adornment of velvet night.
Dark Morpheus, sprinkle your dust
and let us dream dreams of light.
And then we’ll run, again; the shadows
chasing us into the dawn where we wake to our plight.
Nights are pretty things. They’re one of those little fragile and beautiful things of the world, like a new butterfly that dries her wings in the morning sun. Or a carousel ride. The world fades behind and leaves only their wispy shadows – the stuff that our hopes and dreams are made of. And in that darkness where we know not where we go, we’ll be free to dream our lives. And then when we wake, perhaps, we’ll live our dreams.