Dusk.

March 21, 2010
By leighamarie SILVER, Saint John, Other
leighamarie SILVER, Saint John, Other
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"poetry is elegant shorthand"


The golden sun glistens as it fades behind the sharp contours along the snow caps of the mountains, yet continues to peek through the lush evergreens; keeping an eye on the world. If only for a few moments as the last of the daylight rolls through the hills like a cloud of smoke exhaled from your lungs. Dark blue begins to wash over the sky like water running down your fingertips splashing onto the floor to be forgotten the way we forget the soft pink and orange cotton candy clouds being chased away, turning the sky to a perfect blanket of dark blue. This half hour is when my head swims in a sea of love, lust, hate, and memories of the butterflies that lay dormant in my stomach, waiting for their chance to fly. To cut apart my insides and bring me plummeting to my knees like they once did. They make you believe love is a sunset; bitterly beautiful as it ends your day. Telling you the words flowing out of my needle point pen are meant for you. Only these words are not my own; they belong to everyone, stuck at the tip of your tongue patiently waiting to be heard but they always get lost in translation somewhere along the way. These words were stolen; ripped from your mouth, torn up and burnt as the cotton candy clouds are set a blaze by all the things we never say, and that perfect shade of dark blue melts away turning the sky to ash. We’re all just lost in a night of broken memories and shattered dreams, trying to find our way out. But dusk is over and tomorrows another day.

The author's comments:
this piece and dawn go together;this is the more pesemistic of the two.showing how when you're a teenager everything feels like its the end of the world.

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