I began on poet bay with pieces I wrote when I was younger. So here is yet another. I wrote this when I was 20.
Those fine hours of uncertain air that linger between gold and black,
Those are the moments,
The minutes where the thoughts of the day cross over and never look back.
The fine gold and burning red ever becoming new light
The sun to bed.
Gentle wisps of purple and the deepest blue wrap themselves around the sleepy clouds, and await the midnight dew.
That dance of color - the harmony of two moments becoming one, a blink of an eye, a gentle breeze and the day is done.
There is where the dreams are sewn and the story finds a hold,
These hours where the unreachable dreams begin to unfold.
Fantastic love, deepest agony, stifling loneliness all find homes there -
Where the clouds turn gray and blue turns gold.
Where black learns to caress the sun.
These are the hours in which dreams have learned to fly
Where hopes have learned their names.
How many hearts have learned to live,
How many souls their secrets told in the gray world of the Twilight sky.
Jessica
7/03/95
Poetry by Jessica Rexroat
Read 933 times
Written on 2007-02-08 at 21:28
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
The Twilight Sky
Amidst the gray of night and day is where the dreams begin to grow.Those fine hours of uncertain air that linger between gold and black,
Those are the moments,
The minutes where the thoughts of the day cross over and never look back.
The fine gold and burning red ever becoming new light
The sun to bed.
Gentle wisps of purple and the deepest blue wrap themselves around the sleepy clouds, and await the midnight dew.
That dance of color - the harmony of two moments becoming one, a blink of an eye, a gentle breeze and the day is done.
There is where the dreams are sewn and the story finds a hold,
These hours where the unreachable dreams begin to unfold.
Fantastic love, deepest agony, stifling loneliness all find homes there -
Where the clouds turn gray and blue turns gold.
Where black learns to caress the sun.
These are the hours in which dreams have learned to fly
Where hopes have learned their names.
How many hearts have learned to live,
How many souls their secrets told in the gray world of the Twilight sky.
Jessica
7/03/95
Poetry by Jessica Rexroat
Read 933 times
Written on 2007-02-08 at 21:28
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
J. E. |
|
Phyllis J. Rhodes |
