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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Twilight, oh beautiful twilight, the foreboding before the dawn; that such beauty can exist in such ill air- is beyond me to understand, as the first rays of light caress the darkness, I cannot help but feel ashamed- that I can't appreciate it. I'm ashamed that I'm awake at this ungodly hour, staring at the yonder sky when I ache for warm mattress cushions- and a fluffy pillow comforting me;(maybe even a warm glass of milk)- it all feels so far away, all I can do is gaze at the twilight. I have to sit on a bench instead of a chair, hoping that someone will notice- that I'm sitting here, that I'm not invisible, forsaken by the clouds above; all I have is twilight now. I see dawn approaching, I sat here all night; what else can I do but sit? I don't want to sleep here- and be judged. I don't sleep in the cold, I'm not an animal! And I hope I never have to eat like one either. Every day is getting colder, and the looks I get are especially frigid;(get out of my sight! Disappear! We don't want you here!) they ignore my tears. I don't want to sit here, I don't want to be invisible anymore! I want to be a human being again. I don't want to huddle for warmth- on a bench, risking some authority will arrest me for loitering or beat me! The world is not made for human beings or animals, it's made for possessions and wealth- and somehow having neither is a crime and I sit in my first hours of despair wondering how long my humanity will hold out, before I go feral? So here I am enjoying the beautiful twilight and the incoming dawn, never stayed up late enough or awoken early enough to see it before, I see the sun's orange face emerge from the mask of shadows and- begin to color the book's blank pages red, creating colors like no others- I'd ever seen. I weep with golden tears, having seen a painting that no museum could ever hold. I try to renew my hope in what could be and what should be, trying not to think about what I- no longer have as my stomach ache returns and the threat of hunger is too much for me to hold, I retreat into my mind, imagining a warm room in which I tell a close personal friend about a bright, glistening twilight.
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