The Rising Sun


The sunrise is ever so glorious though
it has killed a beautiful moonlit night.
A glorious murderer, the rising sun,
the one you adore, wholeheartedly,
for his warm and transparent yellow light.
He has no sympathy, he cannot feel
the silent pathos of your needs of love
so he shall forsake you after a while
by drowning beyond the scarlet horizon.
Still you need his bright warmth so wantonly
that you would keep on sleeping through the dawn
when the sun would slaughter my beloved moon.

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