Silvery sands we walked over,
Footprints smitten but never forgotten,
Quite deftly destroying the perfect arches.
And how long shall we climb the ridges for?
When the light warms the time held in our fingers,
Running through steadily, yet fast,
Shuffling of only the crushed thorns,
Our bare feet sink into the
dissolved, ghostly essence of the past,
And we sit with the light, reminiscing the fall.
Blinded by the light is such a sick, dizzy and warm feeling. Like Apollo embracing you, but his rays slowly seeping in and burning your skin. Like gradually being pulled into sweet nothing, and the pain being felt as nothing but pure bliss.