Like the voice of a silver star,


    Heard now from afar,


    soft and quiet, beauty calls


    Out of the dreaming rain;


    Upon the neon-tinted horizon


    Murmuring music falls,


    Never to rise again.


    Voice of the flames that die,


    in fallen whispers


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.On ruinous gardens waning


    by ungathered bouquets


    Voices of hope


    and the midnight sun


    In my heart, these two are one,


    Fair the petals falling


    drifting on golden winds,


    fire-flecked hope residing


    in sunset-haunted


    hollow skies.