PROSE In the orchards hush,
twillight drapes itself in
molten amber.
Chrysanthemum exhale
incandescence while the air
grows lacquered with
cinnamon and distant rain.
Everything softens,
luminous and elegiac, as
the day surrenders its last
opulent, unhurried breath.
SUZETTE PRIME
Copper leaves descend in
reverent spirals
Amber light lingers on
velvet petals
Dusk pours lavender
through the silent
Chrysanthemum burns with
patient fire
The wind carries cinnamon
and memory
Shadows lengthen, tender
and deliberate
Silence becomes a
benediction here
Each moment glows,
transiet and holy
Autumn exhales its gilded
farewell.
Monica walks where amber
branches bend,
And autumn paints the world
from end to end.
The maples dress in rust and
burning gold,
While scarlet stories of the year
unfold.
A copper breeze drifts softly
through the air,
And scatters amber ribbons in
her hair.
She breathes the crisp and
quiet morning chill,
As purple shadows lengthen
down the hill.
With every step on pathways
dry and bright,
The dying leaves reflect a
golden light.
The feeling of impulsive sensitivity,
the beginning,
the search for the meaning
of despondent emotion,
the end.
That was my realization
when I was at the threshold
of the fading twilight zone
and my marooned mind sank in despair,
contained.
When the day’s last wind began to blow,
I saw my shadow lengthen
in the corridor of the past.
I tried to saunter on the fervent footprints
buried desolate under the delusive dust,
while the last mile waited to be walked.
My life’s story written in a tome
of unending miserable episodes
described in distressing chapters
that continued to drag on.
I decided to not turn the pages any more,
wished the last poignant page was missing,
perhaps never written,
or replaced by a new page
unfolding the chronicle of dreams.
A quiet shadow falls across the floor,
Where solitude keeps watch beside the door.
The world moves on in steady, distant grace,
While time stands still within this empty space.
A deep desire lingers in the chest,
To hear the echo of a welcome song,
Yet cut away from all the humming rest,
We wander blindly where we don't belong.
The windowpane is frosted cold and dim,
As shadows lengthen on the outer rim.
We sit apart, introspective and deep,
Guarding the secrets that the quiet keep.
So vulnerable, exposed to sudden harm,
Reaching in vain for any gentle arm,
Until the silence claims its final toll—
A deep isolation that engulfs the soul.
Yet still a quiet yearning lingers best:
An aching hunger for connection, peace, and rest.
The soft light slowly starts to fade
Where shadows erewhile softly played,
A PENUMBRA begins to spread,
An ELIXIR sets out to head
IMBUED with a magical shine
That seems to lengthen one`s lifeline
With outgrowth of a tender grace
Seeming to fly in time and space
With onset of a feel of peace
And a sense of distinctive bliss.
When shadows lengthen and the day grows still,
I lean into the quiet, soft and deep,
Just pulling up the blankets for a sleep.
It feels like resting after years of work,
Like sitting down when all the chores are done,
No heavy doubts or fears that try to lurk,
Just watching out the window, the fading sun.
My breathing slows, a simple, steady rhythm,
And all the noise inside begins to clear,
I leave the weight of everyday right with them,
And find a strange, gentle stillness here.
No dramatic exit, no pain to fight or mend,
Just letting go, and letting darkness blend.
It has been said you are all just bricks in the wall -
confined and coffined in concrete, your moments
magnified in mortar, souls stone-stippled.
But listen: you are as flowers, individuals efflorescing -
shy eyes of violets, fragile forget-me-nots
unforgettable in pews of blues, sunshine celandines
beaming from sunless corners, strident daffodil trumpets
with everything to tell. Some will grow apart -
wayside wanderers, wayward and cast out.
Some forever up against the world-wall.
You unfold as petals, to sing in tongues of the sun,
in golden tonals, corolla contraltos, a floral choral,
soprano sepals, hibiscus hymns to him and her.
Flowering through stone, blossoming through gloom,
though shadow-dusted with dusk's lilac bloom.
Baptised in the dew of the new which forges
a world anew, transformed by the higher light
which highlights your days, gilded pollen-gold.
Days lengthen as rays warm walls, edges and corners
sun-softening, souls becoming sun-stippled.
Listen: these are the petalled messages to you.
As shades lengthen, while shoots up
The last, most intense of
Day's luminous image
So does wickedness increase
With all of its fury
At the end of an age.
Upon the walls a scene unfolds,
A moment held, though ages told,
The Lord`s Son speaks, with gentle voice
To followers, who don`t rejoice.
“One amidst you will betray me,
With heaven`s grace, so let it be,”
He says, as fear on faces starts
And worry spills on troubled hearts.
Disciples assemble close around,
Upon the holy, sacred ground;
The bread is broken, wine is poured,
A covenant deeply adored.
His hands extend a gentle grace,
To dispel worries on each face,
The shadows lengthen, air grows thin,
A solemn silence settles in.
The flight of time cannot erase
The love poured out in this lone place,
A tapestry of souls so bound,
Where future sorrows can be found.
He knows the path, the bitter end,
The betrayal from a close friend,
Yet peace resides within His gaze,
Despite the coming, tiring days.
A simple supper, a deep sign
Of mercy, perfect and divine,
A memory etched in the soul,
Making all broken spirits whole.
the church is a hospital for sinners
not a hospice for saints
as we're all unfinished portraits
that God must continuously paint
unfinished portraits
perched on the easels of life
waiting to be stained
with the sacred blood of Christ
none of us are perfect
we're all works in progress
Trying and striving
to do our very best
unfinished portraits
perched on the easels of life
waiting to be stain
with the sacred blood of Christ
let our hearts, minds and spirits
be lifted up by His mighty hands
let our canvases be anchored
on godly anointed stands
lengthen us oh Lord
color in our blank space
strengthen us oh Lord
as we relish in Your grace
unfinished portraits
perched on the easels of life
waiting to be stained
with the sacred blood of Christ
we now stand in awe of He
the one who dwells above
just let us never forget His infinite mercy
and unwavering love
unfinished portraits
perched on the easel of life
waiting to be stained
with the sacred blood
of our Lord Christ
As sunlight slides behind the hill,
The world turns lax with fading light,
A quiet hush begins to spill.
As sunlight slides behind the hill,
Ongoing day's work can roost still,
Shadows lengthen with coming night.
As sunlight slides behind the hill,
The world turns lax in fading light.
Floating down the river, drifting so slow
Watching the fish jump in the evening glow
Alligators laying still on the muddy bank
In this quiet moment, there’s only You to thank
Birds flying low, snatching fish from the stream
Everything moving like a beautiful dream
Oh, the sunset paints the sky in gold and red
With a quietness of the soul, and peace ahead
Hearing the voice of God in the gentle breeze
Finding my home right here among the trees
Living a life like no other, wild and free
This river is the only place for me
The water carries every worry away
As the shadows lengthen at the end of the day
No rushing, no hurry, just the current’s embrace
A sacred stillness in this holy place.
Just peace...
My home on the river
Peace.
I sent the SOS
through the inter-dimensional exchange
a while ago~
years, if you measure it
in Earth’s slow turning.
Somewhere, in a corridor
that folds like origami light,
the message is still traveling,
its pulse thinning
as it crosses the stitched seams
between realities.
They should be arriving
any minute now.
The air quivers~
not with sound,
but with the memory of sound,
as if the universe
is clearing its throat
before speaking.
I stand very still,
watching the shadows
lengthen in directions
shadows were never meant to go.
Something is coming.
Something heard me.
The seconds
lean forward
and listen.
The breath, dead silent
no pulse ahead, no way back
shadows lengthen, day is done
No more to explore
no more to hope nor to yearn
just fading light at day`s end.
The twilight of my life glows like a quiet moonrise—slow, silver, and certain of its own beauty. Quote by the poetess
Now that I’m seventy,
I ponder~
have I become a sunset,
slowly slipping into the stillness
between day and whatever comes after?
Some evenings,
I feel the sky settle inside me~
a quiet quilt of coral and copper,
stitched with the softest seams of surrender.
Shadows lengthen
like long-kept questions,
leaning toward the edges
of what I thought I knew.
Yet there is a glow~
a gentle, gathering gold~
that wasn’t there before,
a light that lingers
even as the horizon holds it.
If I am a sunset,
then I am also a threshold,
a tender turning,
a slow-burning beauty
the day could not contain.
And maybe this is not ending
but unfolding~
a final flare of wonder
before the stars
begin their speaking.
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