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| Daylight Fading by � chibilunacat The sun has begun to set again, I watch it paint pink upon the sky, The shadows grow, bold and fierce- Drawing upon envy with a sigh. Inside, the home, the room, I live- I wait for a twinkling star to shine, The Godess planet Venus smiles, The light, vanishing, mystical, in wine. If she began to dance and sway, To the rythm all the angels play- Could you sing to keep in beat, And trace her movements through the day? Sun has faded, burning away- The darkened blue is stretching, yawn- She paints the canvas ever unique- And whispers "Sometimes I write with no lights on." A bird is chirrping, it has flown I sit and watch, and wait I watch, but yet I haven't moved, The hour's drawing late. I'm on a chair, looking at something- Not out a window into sky, I have my back to everything, But see within my eye. The paper, I am looking White with light blue lines, But upon this blank I see- The sun, fading, the solitude whines. A picture painted, bright, pretty- On a paper with no hue- I can see a photograph, no camera To which no one has a clue. I am waiting, watching, fading Slightly becoming confused- Writing, wondering, what is next- An apple, tree, apple's bruised. I can smell a cherry blossom, Clinging mist in air- I feel you, around me, breeze, fresh, My hair, I felt it stir, the wind is in my hair. I am unfolding, unweaving, spinning- I am sitting still, I am looking, hungering, craving- I am drinking up my fill. The sunset, exploding into night- Pink, purple, blue, fading- Faster faster, clouds, darkening, shadows- And across the sky the star's parading. She is dancing, dipping, twirling- Her arms outstretch to the sky- Smiling, laughing, hair is flying, The moon, it's now slowly climbing high. I am sitting, watching always- I can just make out your face, Writing, capturing, the fleeting vision- Leaving from my sacred place. The shadows creeping, coating darker, Pinpoint lights are fighting back- Before the screaming turns to silence- And paints my picture black. Squinting, struggling, where's the line, I stiffle and quiet my yawn- i can hear the voice, mine, I whisper- "Sometimes I write with no light on." Terra Mae 1/11/2002 |