Streaks of rain on the window,
Soft and quiet like the wind at night,
The ember that glows in the dark,
Choking on ash and dust,
Familiarity ripped apart and down,
The shadow of touch,
What was will never be again.
Pines in the clear blue air,
Treading lightly on sacred ground,
The hills lit up in sunset reds,
Beckoning the twilight gasp,
Abandoned words without homes,
Snapping like twigs underfoot.
A piercing howl at the moon,
Fools stay in the past, mourning,
The sun rises yellow and bold,
Sand and stones,
Days and years, going by.
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