David A. Moore
Sometimes I think the night will never end,
That my vague memories of light are only a dream,
That the senses I'd thought to be numbed by cold were never real.
That I myself was never real.
But eventually the sun always rises,
Casting light and warmth upon the world.
And for a fleeting moment I think I'm saved
As a beautiful red-orange hue climbs through the sky.