In the darkness, before I ventured to dream,
above my screen window, was her -
a looming blood moon,
of the world's woes she bled,
as shooting stars arced in such a vastness
that time cannot end.
In those starry hours, I longed to sleep,
yet, the mischievous schemes of ghosts
interrupted my dreams,
and, as I bade them to leave -
the blood moon of mysteries
rose to her sorrow,
she became a wound
in the sacredness of heaven's peace,
beyond the highest thrones of the saints -
is the steadfast One,
Who weeps in amber shafts of light.
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