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The Sun Dies Away

Setting in the west, the sun dies away.

It rose once upon a time,
once when we were young.

It rose and our faces turned toward it,
seeking the soothing rays of

Grasping, clinging together,
we sought the ways of light,
the ways of edification
and sweet adoration.

We sought each other,
two hands bound into one, 
founding a friendship
and a simple
of understanding,
of trust,
of quiet and boundless exultation.

Our day was long 
and we played our instruments
of elation with our lot.

We played with life.

Illumination fed our animation,
our movements of optimistic
that life would play out, 
and we would always feel 
the energy of the sun,
and our deep, abiding affection.

Life played out.

Traveling with the light
was a joy
and the journey we
were seeking to eliminate
the chill of solitude.

Life was lived 
and gave us
the gentle caress of comforting touch.

We traveled together,
following the sun,
and we never thought
to doubt.

Love plays out.

The sunlight dies away,
passion fades away
and warmth passes,
does not stay.

We reached land's end,
and the setting sun
faded away
into the sea, as it does every day.

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