Dusk devours chroma
at the Septembering of a day,
when rooms succumb to the miasma
of a rumbling, hungered night-coming,
and darkness’ dust scrapes
lazy, late afternoon hues
on blued-evening white doors,
and walls lilacness commences the crawl
to dulled corners charcoaled bolder
in advancing hours.
The twilight resigns, fading
to the democracy of the dark;
but us, tip-toeing to infinity
with the logical line of endless words,
in slipping sleepwise we fall,
and saturate grey sleep
with stark contrasted dreams,
our spectral artistry emblazoned
in glinting needles of clarity
cushioned in the nebulous clutch
of our every unknown.
Flickering eyes, in mimicry
of the unseeing creativity
of one wide awake
who, in the pitch of midnight,
creates a pageant from starless sky.

2 thoughts on “Septembering

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