Over the sharp horizon

What use are the nights,
with their cold touch?

Darkness swallows the heart,
warm and full as it is.

Dreams follow sun’s glow
over a sharp horizon,

leaving behind an empty glass
and exhausted eyes.

Sky borrows points of light
from distant hopes,

reflections that expose
the bleak path at foot.

What use are the nights,
now that the day is lost?

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