The sun sets down,
On the horizon of a long lost dream.
Something no more than an escaping shadow,
A thing running that’s finally been set free.
Many eyes would look upon what wasn’t once a shadow,
What wasn’t once something with nothing more than fading footprints.
On the edges of a darker place with no sun rising by its edge,
but only one that sets; one that sets without end.
And before long we do not know,
Whether the setting sun, the escaping shadow, or the long lost dream — We do not know whether these are things truly beautiful,
Or just a dying tree shedding all its leaves.