When evening comes and evil rouse
When howls and shrieks of terror without
The Day is here and within we're ready
Assured dark shall pass and into light
We'll walk when the doors are opened
But the fight's the despair and fear
From sights and sounds of evil's triumph
It's cruel rampages and idolatrous boasts
But that Day comes in the dark of dusk
The Sun's hid that dark destroys dark
And a pleasant land refreshed revealed
And our eyes behold only beauty and light

All those yesterday's are my tomorrow,
A dawn of memories run astray;
Nostalgia's spell from which I borrow,
The dusk and embers of our ways.

Tom Lefort

Dusk is a promise of Dawn
As long as Life is LORD
And night can be long
As it was once years ago
A day in many thousands
An utterly unworldly terror
Or briefly: Old to New Moon
Or Three Days and Nights
Evil prophesies and rejoices
At Dusk, Night without End
Indeed it shall be, a Shadow
Of Day, A Day without End

The evening twilight.

Tipping up, I see the white --


scuts of the rabbits.

I was on a journey to find my core,
Through heartaches deep, in search of something true.
A soul adrift, emotions all askew,
In quest of worth, I longed for something more.


Through winding paths where shadows seemed to creep,
I sought for treasures in life's vast array,
Yet each pursuit left me in disarray,
As yearning eyes welled up with tears to weep.


In the final dusk, clarity emerged,
A whisper soft, a truth that set me free.
The love of Allah, a balm, a key,
Now, in His grace, my troubled heart has surged.


Remembrance of what's vital, pure release,
In His love, my soul finds lasting peace.
The lesson I learned in pursuit of importance, our hearts misled,
Messing the threads of truth, chasing illusions we bred.


If you inquire of true remembrance,
I'd share the extract—life's secret recipe.
Remembrance, a tapestry woven in the mind,
Threads of cherished moments, in our hearts entwined.

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time was moving steadily.  
My room is a solemn dusk as the skyline would summon a perfect storm. All I could hear was my blood, rapidly gushing, in a body that is a vessel of momentary waves; and I was idling, holding a ***** cup. Can I still even keep my coffee warm in my freezing hands? Forlorn by the sunlight, torn by a whimsical love.

And yet, I still keep you,
as I search for you on the shelves
as I look for you at the other side of the door.

This room is full of calamity, isn't it?

When the sky dons its robes of indigo,
I slip into a tranquil reverie where
shadows lengthen and soften,
and mirrors hold whispers of ancient stories.
A gentle breeze dances through the forest like secrets.
It’s a lullaby for a weary soul.
A gentle reminder than even in stillness,
there is movement, a world in transition.
As I stand on the threshold of day and night,
I think about all the fleeting moments
from my past self and embrace the twilight.