Amidst the twinkling quiet of night,
a nihilist's requiem absorbs errant light.
Entangled in shadows, the faces flex tight,
while clouds feast together on burnt beasts of flight.
In due time, indeed, these skies will dissolve,
as into night each day's sun will fall.
But in the soft morning, you'll hear the call
of manifold nothings compressed into a ball.
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