Kiss only shadows

under skies that are of pitch black
and sunsets of bleeding red
when hope seems not coming back
someone appears to make living, the one that was dead.

if words were enough to describe
or what sense of meaning it is to hold
or a gaze could be enough to behold
what is seen
then life would just be mundane
and we’d have all the answers
Still things would be pain.

for now…ill enjoy the bliss
having something to divide with
a genesis where newness
is like the break of dawn
It rises.

But what of dreams to become
These musings
By them I come undone
I speak as though I know myself
But what is
must be made of myths
My mind imagines a canvas painted in bliss
And for this
I wake to kiss only shadows
Of when I thought
I frolicked meadows.

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