In Her Twilight

I saw her once beneath the city lights, A siren cloaked in velvet nights. She moved like poetry, soft and slow, With eyes that knew the world below. She turned me down in younger days, I wore the silence like a maze. Thought love had cursed me, left me bare, While she danced freely without care. But time—oh time, the painter sly— Draws lines where roses used to lie. And years passed like a whispered sin, Until that night on 13th and Linn. She stood alone, the crowd passed through, Her glow now lost in morning dew. The spark had dimmed, her aura gray, As twilight stole the light away. Her voice was low, her posture bent, Her face—a canvas, beauty spent. A queen dethroned by choices made, The cost of glory's fleeting trade. I felt no pride, no sweet revenge, Just solemn awe at time's revenge. And in her gaze, a haunted sea— Of all the things she could not be. We both had learned what youth forgets: That fame is fire, and beauty debts. And chasing ghosts will only find, Illusions left in mirrors blind. So here’s to all who shine too fast, Burn bright, then fade into the past. In her twilight, I saw the truth— That every rose must face its root.