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There is fear even in our sleep,

Nightmares now speak as if they are alive,

Flush with blood and breath.

The streetlights don’t dispel darkness,

They impress the depth of the night.

Soon there will be walls in the air,

Hanging, like bats,

And the skies, earth, seas

Will be a dystopian abode of gore and ghosts.

The moon will still be shining high,

Profusely white. Breathing promise.

Waxing and waning, though.

Keep the moon alive,

Give her your deepest passions,

For, in her boundless love alone

shadows will find shelter

and our dreams survive.

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