Under a Twilit Moon

The night wore on under the twilit moon – purple, half-sunk, half-risen over the flaming sea. Thoughts twirl and ebb and flow and curl up against jagged stones, clinging to the only safety the mind has ever known. A car, an infant, a teardrop mother: all waiting silently for that peace to come. But lo, here’s innocence, bright-shining under a starless sky; purity of youth lost to age. And thus, there find me, cold and broken, aged past morning and into evening. Now here I sit, under a twilit moon – purple, half-sunk, and rising into the gloom.