In the Arms of Night
Walking down the riverside at twilight,
the sun turns red — a burning star — bleeding into the sky.
A quiet star sinks, leaving whispers in its wake,
and I drift in the glow, wandering wild and free.
The wind whooshes softly, a melody of dusk,
where shadows stretch and the earth exhales,
the memory of a sun that'd been shining for days.
I am one with the river, lost beneath the echoes of time.
The waters, like mirrors, dance in pale moonlight,
drawing secrets from the fading heavens.
And the breeze, a chilly blow, cherishes my soul,
while the world slips into the warm arms of night.
The river, a silver thread, weaves its song,
and I, a whisper in its flow.
As the sky melts into shades of violet and gold,
I breathe in deep, letting the moment wash over me,
feeling time slip away, like the river flowing endlessly.
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