FRANKLIZSTEIN

As night reaches the edge of the Valley of Reason, And those dark storm clouds unfold and unravel and churn, Black on black, Do the stars still exist beyond them? Do a thousand tiny specks still glitter against that inky canvas? Look closer and you'll see torches blazing. Once this meadow was lit with all the fire of the sun. An unyielding radiance, Misleadingly invincible. But that flame has died. And now, behind black clouds, Have the embers of that fire been embedded in the night sky? And if those embers die too, Will reason ever be restored? Or will I forever be trapped in this unforgiving state of constant panic, constant t