The sun lowers itself on the plains

Bleeding colours from the remnants of the day

Twilight edges like a razor along the horizon

Threatening the atmosphere with it’s ghoul-ridden fog


I sink my body into safety

Exhaling my soul from frustration

I threaten my mind with schemes of destruction

The ghouls begin to seize my attention


As the sun hovers

My heart stays afloat

As darkness spreads

My destruction flourishes


 I am trapped in the dusk.

Where do I belong?


One thought on “dusk

  1. I love the imagery of the first three verses, especially the ‘unordinary’ word choice, like the use of ‘bleeding colours’. I once read that poets would be better served if they wrote until they thought they were finished-then deleted the last line(or two) as most are poor at endings…might want to consider that here.


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