I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.
I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.
I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.
I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.
At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.
The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.
So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.
I lay down arms against the evening.
To the dreaming
I cast my gaze.
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 3:51 PM UTC
I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.
I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.
I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.
I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.
At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.
The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.
So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.
I lay down arms against the evening.
To the dreaming
I cast my gaze.
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