Born of dying flames and embers few,
He lived atop the mountain of light.
Conceived of inky swirls and midnight blue,                                                              
She dwelt in a dungeon out of sight.

The Daughter of the Dark was poetry and fire,
And the Son of Light was prose and rain.
Oblivious to a prophecy with consequences dire,
Both continued to peacefully reign.

The mountain of light was magnificent,
With a land of marble and crystal skies.
In woven sunlight his people resplendent,
Only knew of freedom with a few ties.

The dungeon floor was glass and ice,
And the roof all studded stars and swirling blues,
Was held up by pillars of ink and lies-
Around which danced her people in a riot of hues.

But she dreamt often of a brilliant white,
And he oft wondered where the light did stop.
So once, in pursuit of realms beyond their sight,
Both commanded their horses to gallop.

They collided on the sands on which roses bloomed -
At Twilight, where the horizon blurred.
And because in the face of unknown beauty we are doomed
To lose reason, their souls stirred.

He gifted her a brilliant orb to hang with her stars,
And she presented him blues with which to paint his skies.
She taught him that stories and dreams are not always a farce,
And he in return taught her that silence is most often wise.

But prophecies are the most dangerous when unknown.
For it had been decreed that although born at the same hour,
All their lives, to crossed paths they would be sworn,
Each struggling to attain the enigma of power.

Soon enough, his eyes lusted for the land of midnight,
While her heart desired nothing more than the sunlit land.
But to want more is never in the stead of what is your right,
And slowly, the colour faded from the roses in the sand.

The war did not last long, but their wounds did.
Both were forced surrender and then to retreat.
They swore to find where the other hid,
And quietly realised that never could they like before meet.

Even today, he races across the blue sky,
While she rages to the seas from her orb of light.
But do you see why the longest shadows at evening lie?
And will you recognise the scent of withered roses from the land of Twilight?

You now know why dawns and dusks pass in a whirl,
And how love and fairness is often lost to wars.
You must understand that life does not always come full circle,
For it’s a world of scattered arcs – some rainbows and others, scars.