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My love for him felt displaced by time.
Like a long summer nap and waking
to find the sun freshly out in the sky.

Only that it wasn't. It was the same sun
in the sky before I slept, and the same one when I awoke at 19.58 pm.

Nothing was new. Instead all was steadfast. Lacking in the fluidity and spontaneity that gave one the ability

to see into a man's soul through the twitching of his right eye.
It felt like a black wren's feather

caught in between two branches.
The proof that although I wanted to fly, I was held back by the familiarity of a place.


So I sit on this short hill in the twilight of my life and wonder what it would feel like to fly uninhibited in the morning sun.

Like a little girl's laughter in summer. Full of crescent moon tambourines and a head covered in a wreath of dried lavender.
C Cavierre Jun 10
These growing feelings were inexorable
As could be,
We were taken by surprise while
Our feet were soaking in the shallow tide.
We missed the sign of the creeping twilight, and
The span of the galaxy sprung on the horizon;
I swam with the innumerable stars ever more,
Engulfed in those boundless pools of obsidian eyes.
if black was romantic
Riri May 19
Beneath the boughs where twilight spills its gold,
The whispering winds through blooming meadows glide.
A river sings where silent secrets fold,
And daisies nod with grace the hills can't hide.

The sky, a canvas brushed in fading flame,
Reflects in pools where dragonflies alight.
The lark ascends and calls the sun by name,
While shadows dance beneath the birch’s light.

In Nature’s hush, the soul is softly stirred—
A truth more pure than ever man has heard.
minisha Apr 27
Whispers of gold adorn your visage,
but why do they hide your facade?
The orange skies are calling your name,
but you're too vague to gaze the glade.
The dawn lifts your veil,
for you long to be caressed by the sun,
but as the covetous twilight blinks,
you shy away from the world.
Maryann I Mar 4
A flicker of neon, a stairway unwinds,
Echoes dissolve into whispers of time.
Emerald lingers in the hush of the air,
Fading to sapphire, dissolving despair.

Soft are the edges where daylight recedes,
Waves in the distance hum low melodies.
Step after step, the silence hums too,
A world in between—green into blue.

Shadows stretch long in the glow overhead,
Memories linger, though softly they shed.
Something is calling, so distant, yet near,
A color in motion, a feeling unclear.

Follow the fading, let midnight ensue,
Let go of the emerald—fall into blue.
Maryann I Mar 3
Frost laces the earth —
a quiet diamond veil,
whispers of smoke rise,
spilling through the breath of trees.

Snow, soft as forgotten dreams,
drifts over stones, over roots,
its silence pressing close,
like a hand on the chest of night.

The wind, thin and sharp,
skims the hollow of the hills,
pulling shadows into its folds,
sewing the moon into the bones of the sky.

Bare branches stretch,
clawing toward a distant sun,
their fingers white and brittle,
writing cold prayers in the dark air.

Below, a river sleeps —
its pulse muted,
veiled under ice,
the valley cradles it in a long, slow sigh.

In the pause between seasons,
we linger —
half-light and half-shadow,
breathing the fragile quiet of winter,
waiting for what is to come.
I’ve been trying out different writing styles and I’m still figuring out what I like.
The day commences, towards its end,
Twilight faced across the sky.
A cold night surges, unyielding to bend,
As the radiant hope, so high.

The warmth fades, no hope to subdue,
gloom rises through the skyline.
The pack returns for curfew,
Beneath stars that calmly shine.
I got the inspiration during dusk; as I saw kids playing outside, people returning home from work, school.
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