It's getting late; the sun is about to set.
The sky indicates with an explosion of orange, white, yellow within a framework of blue.
I have many thoughts that swim in the hollowness of my mind.
The things of past, present and soon to be known future.
I have been a silent petal within a meadow of flowers during the only known part of my life.
My voice, only just heard in the form of soft and violent verses.
Till now I had yet to find my tongue that held a million words.
Till now I have only understood that it shall take the years to come.
Till my concluding breath is to discover all million words.

It's getting late, and I have much to learn.
The world remains in harmonious rotation with the sun.
One single memory, to be memorialised in my brain.
The sun has almost completely sunk to the earth that I am yet to see.
As I watch its last drops of life embrace at the wax coated leaf’s.
Night is near - and along will follow day.

It's getting late, with the glow-worms of the streets awakening.
Casting an ambient light on the wings of silver moths.
Swarming for guidance that shall never lead them to a home of unity.

It's getting late, with the wheels of the bus turning beneath my aching feet.
And the rush of blinding headlights cutting the dark abyss that threatens to consume humanity.
My eyes search beyond cooling glass, for a familiar sight to be seen.
For the cluster of buildings and vines and slow moving roads to once more engrossed in my vision.
And for the scent of mud dirtied water to stimulate my nostrils once more.

It’s getting late, with the hurt for home setting in.
The barrenness of family spoiling my independency.

It’s getting late; the sun has finally set behind the foreign place I leave.
Taking its art from the wall; now vacant for an artist of the night to clam.
With my heart in motion to feel the touch of family that is situated in the small of a town far from here.
My brain sorting through many things I have locked away for long enough.

It's getting late; my life from now shall never be the same.
The present now past; the once future now present.
All the while the time of life never missing a tick nor tock.

It's getting late; and I have finally accepted the person I am.
As I travel back to my home from a short time away; to prepare for the unknown.
To try and understand the future that has been approaching for the length of my life’s thread.

It’s getting late; an artist of night has now claimed the wall, arranging stars so effortlessly to shine upon all.
And I have finally gathered an understanding about the life that is seen as myself...

The darkened hall grew around me
as she came, the breath in my
lungs filled and stilled, halting as I halted
the moment from passing
her skin without blemish, her hair
so short compared to my own
her eyes black voids to another
universe no longer recognized
her mouth turned up, though sewn
closed locking inside a world once
seen clearly in a childlike mind
and though time was still, all I
had ever wanted was looking at me
and it was the most terrifying experience
of my half life and I wondered
how scared was she, staring
into the future? I wondered if to her
my eyes were fallen, my skin so pale
especially in the muted gray
if she saw a destroyed fantasy
or a kiss of hope, and I wondered
if she knew too much because
sometimes it is best to be uncertain
and be happy than to be sure
but always disappointed
but my fear turned to agony when she
acknowledged my existence that
in the turn of this realm I am real
that she accepted me for all I
am and never will become
so dear I hold her, so far away she stands
with one arm gracefully raised
“Take me with you,” a prayer to understand
but I cannot, I will not
because I want her to remain uncertain
in loving memory.