Saturday, March 22, 2014

The Race:

It is beautiful still
It was a race
Between the setting sun and me
I caught up just as it turned bright orange
With red flecks and saw it slip behind a hill
I glimpsed upon its reflection
On the misty waters of a quiet lake below
I turned with a sign
To the far horizon on the other side
Where a flimsy orange moon
Was getting bolder by the minute
I lay there on top of a hill
Caught between a setting sun and a rising moon
The wind rushing past my ears
And a tranquil unmoving silence all around
It was painful
This unhurried beauty
The mind was in a chaos
Afraid of the future
Till what time, till what time
I asked the darkening sky
The stars sparkled
The moon beamed a golden surreal light
I fell silent
Yes, it is beautiful still