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I love the dreams we keep to ourselves at night
And the hate they way the morning makes them take flight
I love it when I can feel his warmth and hear him breathe
I hate it when no matter how hard I look around
I just can't seem to touch him, I just can't seem to see
Sigh... You paint the perfect verbal picture of loss. Definitely drawn upon some past pain... which makes it even more real. I feel it, Richard... down deep... I feel it. !!!
This is a very nice piece! You're improving greatly in dark poems. And of coarse, you know me and darkness. :) I didn't know what to except when I saw the title, but you named it accordingly. All shadows melt again in the sun, and so does our memories hidden in the darkness of the night. We are free to remember when it's dark and pretend we're in other places, the places that we were. And we can take our time, as we wait for sleep to take us away into a world of our dreams. The way you presented it made it more of a poem than prose like you usually do. I've been switching back-and-forth recently too. This is a original and creative piece, and I enjoyed reading it. It's mysterious in a way and it's one of your better pieces for sure.
You should capitalize the fourth line in the second paragraph though. Other than that spelling and grammar are good. Keep up the great work!
May the divine darkness be with you,
Leigh of the Commenting Crusaders