Dusk At Last

a poem about being happy that the sun is going down, for people that hate the sun.

The mournful luster of sundown soon arrives,
casting a spell to the heavens like an eclipse
flowers saturate; their aroma nightly to survive
lucid images triumph as they hit my eye reflex

The sun turns into a wrecked, vexed element,
falling dreaming, suffering as rainy drops cry
the radiant annoying rays become indifferent,
resisting conflicting objectivity as hard as I try

I become nothing; a gasping and wounded soul,
oh lovely darkness you belong to me; so full of life
I tremble foolishly as clouds pass through their hole,
don’t you ever try to be a fugitive again, you are mine!