The Wrath of the Final Sunset

You felt a strange breeze sway to the evening sky
You watched the silhouettes colour the horizon
You silently muttered sweet nothings to yourself
You watched the sun slowly fade away
You waited for the day end but hoped the sunset remained
 You felt the urge to make wishes out of the shooting stars
You wanted to tell tales to the beautiful crescent
Yet you held on to the dying embers of the sun
You felt a strange feeling of the ultimate farewell
It all felt different, you would never love the dusk
You were letting go of what you held dear
You sat by a bench every night to watch the sun set
You wrote poems about the beauty of the horizon
You felt alive at the divine beauty of the western skies
but you knew this was your farewell
You were letting go of the only life you ever knew
and she was to blame, she was at fault for this goodbye
She was the reason you felt the need to switch off
she was the reason you chose to be at odds with beauty
...

Down that Lane

Sometimes it's weird how the little things make the most sense. You are reading through a book and the description of dry withered leaves gets you reminiscing about the perfect yesterday. Maybe it was perfect, but those days are gone and thus you choose to remember the good in them. You wonder why the present scares you and the future frightens you the more. You eventually decide to live in the past because it seems much more familiar. But who are you fooling? The past is gone despite the numerous times you relish the thoughts of the beautiful silhouettes.

All in all, the past is like those notes people like to read at the last minute to be aware of what the tests require. The past may offer a guideline for the future. You don't have to do things in a similar way. It is imperative to take on the adventure of the unknown and that's what life is all about. My past, however, is one interesting story; a story of a book that incorporates numerous themes which I might feed on in any article of 'Down that Lane'.

Another Unfinished piece

I thought I had known the essence of life

I had lived a life of blue skies and beautiful stars

I had written lame stories about the constellations

I had depicted outlines of blue on every wall

I had lived every day to perfection as I knew it

I had rubbed the edges of the tiny crescent

And every time I felt the heavens pour

I watched the river flow faster

I saw the birds fly away beyond the clouds

I watched the early afternoon turn dark

I smiled at the mere notion of the darkness

I was happy throughout the seasons

I attained happiness through rare illusions

I celebrated having the ability to live