Could night resolve, and could a potion cure?
Is that important, things that we create?
The beauty that persists between the love and humour
Is something meant to outweigh the hate.
I wish we never tired meant to be,
In twilight seeking words, before and after.
When someone crosses fortune with the mean,
It's Lord with us endures through the hardships.
To cross as much, divergence to the source,
And hope in one direction - vector-fate.
If potions could have always cured cause,
It never would be actually too late.