So bright are those rays, that fall on the land below.
Enveloping all, in sickly, golden glow.
Would not come of as sane, to call it cruel.
Yet what is a being, living for approval?
Amidst fallen leafs and exposed branches of trees.
Under glare that will remain not eager to cease.
Walk down the path, never looking up at the sky.
At the ominous clouds and crows, above so high.
From the blackest corners, mist swallows and engulfs.
As much as reflecting light of the sun allows.
And when perhaps turning away, from \"brilliant\" stare.
Wait until night, to stand neath stars woven with care.
In the blackness carried, sinking into the dark.
In the loneliness guided, by a cosmic spark.
Stepping in the darkness, it is easy to trip.
Walking into the abyss, unknowingly slip.
But in full moon, in those branches swaying so slow
During a nocturnal hour, lies the reward.
Without blinding light, defying expectations.
Making way in night, by one\'s own incantations.
Then what is a being, living for approval?
Just a thing living, waiting for it\'s removal.