/the night comes down like heaven

You come to being at twilight.
With angels at your side.
Bestowed by the light of the sunrise.

You live by daylight.
A rumour of demons lurking behind.
Hiding in plain sight.

The whites of your eyes.
Turn into graphite.
Is it the fate of the mortal, or did you turn divine?

You know for the last time.
”I can no longer call it ‘mine’.
So give me the night, the night, the night.”

You tangle endlessly.
And you remember everything.
Only ’til the sun recedes once again.
And the night comes down like heaven.

-ABD

Context, because I am not a good writer and need to explain my abstract thoughts: This attempt of a lyrical musing is the expression of the cycle most of us go through. The discovery of the fire of passion (not handed by Prometheus), the childlike naïveté when putting it out there, the six degrees of grief when it doesn’t turn out what/how you wanted it to, the existentialism that follows, followed by either the end of the road or rebirth.

P.S.- I go through this cycle every time I publish a project and sharing “Dear 2023” played the same song again—carried me to the place I wanted to visit without asking me to stay in it. Only this time, I took a pen and a paper with me.