alice on Nostr: A QUESTION OF TWILIGHT A #Poem by #RayeneMeghriche Shall we linger here, where ...
A QUESTION OF TWILIGHT
A #Poem by #RayeneMeghriche
Shall we linger here, where shadows drape the stone,
In twilight’s trembling breath, so softly blown?
How does the evening whisper secrets old,
In language lost, with echoes manifold?
O, what phantoms pass in the dimming light,
When day resigns its kingdom to the night?
The hours unfold like worn and tattered books,
With pages filled by trembling, ancient hands.
Do you not see the Serpentine River's crooks,
Where truth lies buried in forgotten lands?
What dreams arise from ashes of the past,
With voices lost, in silent spells recast?
Is it here we find our mirrored selves, at last,
In pools of dusk where time’s enchantments hold?
How pale the faces, cast in shadows vast,
Reflected in the depths, their tales untold!
Do we not seek the keys to doors long sealed,
In corridors where only ghosts have healed?
O, the streets that twist like strands of fate,
Winding through the labyrinth of night!
What mysteries do the lamp-lit alleys state,
When silence spreads its shroud, and all is right?
Do we not ponder on the threshold’s edge,
As stars emerge, a silver, gleaming pledge?
In cities grown from dreams and memories,
What voices call from towers of despair?
Are these the truths found in our reveries,
In mirrored fragments of the dusky air?
Do we not feel the pulse beneath the stone,
Where earth and sky and flesh and spirit moan?
How does one answer silence with a sigh,
When questions swirl like leaves in autumn’s grasp?
What visions rise beneath the crescent sky,
When moonlight’s silver fingers gently clasp?
O, to what end do we traverse this path,
Through realms of shadow, light, and aftermath?
So let us walk, with whispers as our guide,
Through veils of time where past and future blend.
Is it in the heart’s vast depths that truth does hide,
Awaiting us where dreams and daylight end?
Do we not find, in twilight’s fleeting grace,
The echoes of eternity’s embrace?
#poetry
comment: I'm smart enough to know that I don't write good poetry, and smart enough to know when I find it.
A #Poem by #RayeneMeghriche
Shall we linger here, where shadows drape the stone,
In twilight’s trembling breath, so softly blown?
How does the evening whisper secrets old,
In language lost, with echoes manifold?
O, what phantoms pass in the dimming light,
When day resigns its kingdom to the night?
The hours unfold like worn and tattered books,
With pages filled by trembling, ancient hands.
Do you not see the Serpentine River's crooks,
Where truth lies buried in forgotten lands?
What dreams arise from ashes of the past,
With voices lost, in silent spells recast?
Is it here we find our mirrored selves, at last,
In pools of dusk where time’s enchantments hold?
How pale the faces, cast in shadows vast,
Reflected in the depths, their tales untold!
Do we not seek the keys to doors long sealed,
In corridors where only ghosts have healed?
O, the streets that twist like strands of fate,
Winding through the labyrinth of night!
What mysteries do the lamp-lit alleys state,
When silence spreads its shroud, and all is right?
Do we not ponder on the threshold’s edge,
As stars emerge, a silver, gleaming pledge?
In cities grown from dreams and memories,
What voices call from towers of despair?
Are these the truths found in our reveries,
In mirrored fragments of the dusky air?
Do we not feel the pulse beneath the stone,
Where earth and sky and flesh and spirit moan?
How does one answer silence with a sigh,
When questions swirl like leaves in autumn’s grasp?
What visions rise beneath the crescent sky,
When moonlight’s silver fingers gently clasp?
O, to what end do we traverse this path,
Through realms of shadow, light, and aftermath?
So let us walk, with whispers as our guide,
Through veils of time where past and future blend.
Is it in the heart’s vast depths that truth does hide,
Awaiting us where dreams and daylight end?
Do we not find, in twilight’s fleeting grace,
The echoes of eternity’s embrace?
#poetry
comment: I'm smart enough to know that I don't write good poetry, and smart enough to know when I find it.