Dusk is just an illusion,
A dream of peace and confusion,
There's only day and night,
And yet, there's other hues,
Than simply black and white.

Sometimes, gray is the sum of what we see,
But that's not all we're allowed to be,
Sunsets are the abstract paintings of this instant,
Full of love and hate and calm,
But people are fully, truly, tints of iridescent.

Yet all you can see are fields of black,
But anything will if you stay that far back,
Choose to look past every looming flaw,
Maybe there's even white deep inside,
And even icy snow can thaw.

Our frayed, tired feelings return,
We're so quick to internally burn,
Hope is not a heart's careless mistake,
Because a thousand fragments of the broken sky,
Will someday come together as a new daybreak.