Far-falling from a distant heaven,

A gentle radiance in the nightward sea

drifts down, pale and faded

reflections of a wayward glory.

The day, a dying memory,

Wanders in the shadows,

in gardens lulled with a phantom light.

A soft music drifts in eternity,

a song sung by crickets and nightbirds

who bear the burden of the murmured night.

Wingless yet the midnight seemed

a garden untouched by the gaze of any

but the silver divinity

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

that watches over the night.

A soft wind blows through

the pensive, dream-filled hours,

and moonlight flutters

like a windblown moth

between the shadows of the trees

and the creatures of the night.

They linger there

In lofty pallor shrouded,

in ivory song; a colder melody,

a crescent rune that bears

the invocation of sorceries

and hidden summonings,

magic folded in the blossoming

of a night-bloom:

a flower's moon-measured lullaby.