Foretime, I saw an impenetrable obscurity,
'Twas the glow sliding down,
And the dusk riding on to apparent infinity.
A vision, it was, too mesmeric to forget,
For it was where the sun and the sod met.
The sky wasn't blue, nor did it grow black,
But the horizon with the crimson hue was what took me aback.
There weren't any canopies or billows of a kind,
Natheless, it was a sight you'll not ever find.
The luna was conspicuous,
Fading the sun aside,
Only to rise another day with grandeur and pride.
But as mortals upkeeping the orb,
Bar treasuring this select artistry,
We can do naught but slumber into mystery.
Copyright © Shourya Shrivastava | Year Posted 2019