Last of the few

The moon already shines high,
Testifying his steps,
Feeding his shadow,
While they dilute themselves in the Tropic of Dreams
For they don't know the unknown of not feeling.
They've lost the emptiness to fulfil
What I never knew to be, where I always was,
Transparent unknown as I always went.
They pushed the door lightening the street,
Violated by the storm,
Cutting a silhouette in the dark.
The window opened with the wind,
The glass broke and tore their eyes.