The Woman Of Twilight

In the mystic realms of twilight
Resting in the fragile lap of the water lily
The sweeping breeze, heavy with scent
Her fragrant white blossoms,
Gently wrapped around her flowing locks
Dewy and pious as her, like still water
Flowing and swirling like the stars
Flavoring the nightly breeze

The smoky dusk, curled up like a child in her eyes
Glistening moist in the soft moonlight
Her crestfallen eyes a deluge
Of rejection and shame
Of delicious passion and hope
To craft her own story
Every drop, hushed behind the dark kohl lines
A marriage of ink in melancholy

The blushing sun, soaring in the tan sky
Of fire and passion's thirst
As she lies forlorn
Melting in the dry, thirsty flames
In the gloom of the nightly mist

The strangled tears left uncried
Like unborn words trapped in her lips
Slowly groans and escapes her eyelids
Her sorrowful droplets, stroking the tender daffodils
Clinging onto the milky petals
Pleading to protect the delicate slumber
To kill the fiery thirst of dawn
The lively darkness
Of hushed voices and rested bodies
Some fed, some barren
The turmoiled folks, with tiresome energy
Their swollen eyes, burdened with dreams
The happy children, in their play
Saliva peeking in the corners of their mouths
Drooling dreams in twilight oblivion

All for the woman of nightly dreams
Her eyes, still lost and searching
For joy, amid tears
For laughter, amid sorrow

Under the blanket of darkness.

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