These are poems that I might write more of, who knows.

Cherish

.  ·. 　  　 . 　　　  　　　　 .  　　 · 　 ⋆　 　　My eyes　 　　　 ✦  +  ˚　　　　  　 * *  · 　 ˚ 　  　　　　⊹  ˚ 　　 ✹   　　　　 ˚

are always blinded,

How good I must have it

But I suppose the only real way to find comfort

Is to find peace

And be completely unaware of it.

When the

*  ✷˚ . 　 　　 　 　 ✦✺ 　　　　　 ✹ 　　　　　Darkness shines a light　　　　　+ 　　    　 　　 ˚  ·　　　　　 　　  +  ✷     　　　　˚   ✹  +  .

Much more blinding than before

Would we be ready?

Or would the sun burn our delicate skin?

No matter how far away we were?

⭒

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Thousands and thousands

of miles from the stars

Yet,

Their light still shines bright only in the night

And we cherish so little of what we had yet to realize

We will always,

Always,

be happily blind.

But we will carry on.