Even poets must get real.

Twilight, where we see the sun and the moon,

doesn’t last an eternity:

one is another reprieve;

the other, the loss of all breath.

One is dropping; the other flaunts its chill beauty.

I could die for such beauty;

I will have to go down,

like the sun, for such beauty.

Everything I love

must go down like the sun.

Reprieves, like pardons, grow scarce.

Finally, I know what I’m talking about;

I am lucid at last.

It doesn’t help

that the stars are glittering with hope.

One thought on “TWILIGHT

  1. Are these poems written by you? If they are, I must say you have an extraordinarily sensitive mind! The words shine with a beautiful glitter, like a knife cutting through darkness. Congratulations. Keep it alive.

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