To those delicate hours
Between the warm dusk and chilled dawn
Containing time untouched
By my hands, by my eyes
Filled with mystery outside
Of my subconscious activities
What it would be to embrace such hours…
But to acquaint myself into their silence
Would be to sacrifice another time in return
Ought I offer the morning sunshine,
Let it rise behind my closed eyes?
Or perhaps the middle day,
Where I can stage it longingly in the sky?
What of the evening,
The gentle moments of the dwindling night?
And why must our world work this way?
Where to reach the unknown we must give-
Greatly, even- before we take.
So here’s to another day in the sun, and to
Those ambiguous, inevitable hours
…to the existence of which I am aware of…
And the loss I must experience to know.
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