Twilight

By Rebecca Dominique Hawkes

I look at the twilight,

The beautiful dear sky.

And wish it could be mine...

Not just today, but every single night.

I look at the spread of pink hues,

The pale orange sky,

Her lost eyes,

Like cold morning dew.

She loved nothing extreme,

Not the sunlight,

Not the rain...

Just the twilight, that seemed supreme.

Something about the sky seemed serene,

So pure, so real.

The cold yet crisp air,

Just like her inner being.

She loved the cold specks of ice,

Not the sun for it was too bright.

Loved the tinted sky,

Enough to tranquilize.

So,when you look into her eyes,

Look for the subtlety,

Not the bold and summery,

But those soft outcries

Of numbness that bleeds into her skin,

And the dolour within,

The bash of pink and lavender,

And the hazy dispersed ashen.

She does not love the sun

For, it burns a little too much,

When you're naturally dark and cold.

She loves the ice, the bitter cold...

For ice burns equally,

When you get a little too much.

And the sky,

It's cold and pale,

But it's beguiling and bright,

Just like sadness can be beautiful-

Quite resplendent in sight!

By Rebecca Dominique Hawkes