The Edge of Twilight

🟣Twilight sky spills like ink across the horizon, a tranquil, quiet illumination.

Below, the road curves downward - the world itself breathlessly exhaling.

Trees lean in slightly, curious...caught in the subtle, poignant pause before night falls.

Flickering motes swirl in silhouettes...frail fragments...painting tiny faces in a fairy-like magical dance.

Peace arrives as a reverie in the hollows, and a silence of colors unfold.

Shadows stretch thorny, bewitching fingers towards approaching strangers, pursuing truth.

Pious souls walking, seeking illumination, chasing fleeing dreams that flicker like moths to flame.

The trees lean further inward, listening... each leaf a tongue speaking of dusk...

Each branch a finger pointing the way towards the place where names dissolve and silence stills with dreamlike meaning.

The road forgets its purpose,

becomes a ribbon of transformation,

and the sky, half-awake,

enchants gold into indigo.

She is a virtual seamstress, awakening at the threshold.

Step by step, the weary figures descend into the marrow of twilight,

where the edge of being becomes a living bloom.

🟡

Light emerges...radiant. The world dips in reverence.

Trees bend into arches. The sky folds into violet and plum.

The sky casts shadows that resemble wings.

🔵

The road below welcomes strangers, always seeking new dreams,

as old ones escape, fluttering upward,

and bursts, shaping themselves into stars.

It becomes Twilight reversed,

on the edge of being,

poised between day and night,

unraveling the sky’s seam.

The world tilts towards the sunrise,

and the morn emerges...

like a soft, welcoming breath,

at the end of a sigh.