Into the Smoking Folds

Long nights have passed without a word
from voices that I love,
yet distant echos have been heard,
resounding from above.

Imagined shadows drag my mind
to valleys far away,
where specters of a kindred kind
perceive the light of day.

We laugh and cry for hours on end
until our cheeks are red,
but then, one dear and prudent friend
reminds me she is dead.

Fair morning breaks this trying trance
with bands of balmy bright,
yet as the sun begins to dance,
I plead again for night.


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