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Evening shadows carry a gentle softness,

gone is the bright glare of the day,

a hush descends like a lullaby,

bidding the very young and the very old

to settle into sweet darkness.

Dreams start to gather

like clouds in the sky,

weaving together the stories of the day--

fragmented paths,

mysterious byways,

unfolding, growing.

Day into night, night into day,

the wheel of time turns,

evening shadows become morning shadows,

drifting in, raising the sun,

movement, movement everywhere,


hours traversed,

evening shadows roll in

with their moon-lit fragrance,

once again.

◄ This, Now

Thoughts on Poetry ►


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Michael Morales

Fri 22nd Sep 2023 00:58


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keith jeffries

Tue 19th Sep 2023 08:09

Beautifully composed.
Thank you,

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Manish Singh Rajput

Tue 19th Sep 2023 04:33

Hélèna, the sunsets and the afterglows are my favourites. I like how this poem speaks of the evening shadows, it's effect on us, the wheel of time turning, and the returning of "the evening shadows with their moon-lit fragrance."
Thank you for this.

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