Twilight: Notes of an Online Journal

"Twilight"

As the sun is golden
near the twilight,
the seeds
were planted
before I was born,
and were nudging
to the surface
with each day.

I couldn’t tell,
I didn’t feel a thing
not even that
called ‘growing pains’,
when you’re
too young to know
and too
self-absorbed.

When the brain only
knows what you need
as the days
come and go,
and the sprouts start
to tickle their way
to the top.

Then one day
the rush begins,
and you find yourself
reaching & grabbing,
pigging out
with all senses —
an insatiable appetite.

And it goes on,
for years & years
believing
you’re immortal
you take it for granted,
becomes a religion
a rite of passage,
a privilege.

But it’s subtle,
a slower momentum,
sprouts that
had taken root, now
develop rot,
but you still have faith
from disbelief.

Reality, a pill
that used to taste like
candy on a tongue,
is brown
and bitter alfalfa,
like a body that’s
turning against you.

But somehow,
from the blessings
of family
and its garden,
I go back in time;
a girl racing the horizon
as the sun is golden
near the twilight.





NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019