Red moon rising over our darkened world. Over sea of cloud and land of stone. Her crimson glow. Her rounded face. Watching… Watching… Presiding over all who see. Over all who hide and all who do not. Over all who move within her empty twilight realm.
Webs of light. A blackened land. Those sheltered lanes through mountain sands. What lurks without? What lurks within? She knows. She sees. And yet, she will not tell. Why would she speak? We would not hear. Her secrets close. Her secrets dear.
Silent wisdom. Face of stone.
Steeped in red and twilight grace. We walk in shadows lost and alone. She is so far, yet she is near. Reaching to us from across that void. That cold and empty, hidden space.
And there she dwells, do you not see? She watches now. Silent relief.
Deep within your weathered soul. Waiting. Whispering. A soft and soothing crimson glow.
You do not see her. You do not hear her.
And there her silence ever dwells, ancient and aloof.
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