105: Absolutism

The lights are tired, let them rest.
Brilliance infused that glows dimly, weak
in the fog of velvet night. The ghost of Apollo surrounds them,
warming up the air with a linger, never shouts
But whispers unrestrained. Yet, their life commands attention
in the absence of Le Roi.
In daytime: phantom lights that never were.
Instead - The Leader of the Muses.