For Twilight Is Softly Slow Breathing Poem by Andrew David Dalby

To the west, the sky flashes blue bright alive.
As to the east rises a huge golden orb moon,
while all around there is a heavy utter silence.

There is no light on the dusty road to Damascus
No blinding bright light to change this raggedy way.
For there are no bonds that are there helped to build us
And there is no means to help us make the change
There is no real call for a true social revolution
For there are no real screams of anger and dissent
There are just the rich and obscenely powerful
Who thrive upon causing strife and bitter malcontent- -

There is no rise in the unbridled unsung masses
No placards left, no room to demonstrate.
There is just vile blue hatred and stout snobbery
From googly eyes that so mirthlessly start to dilate
There is no building or any form of creation
There are just words around pointless points of view.
No, there is no revolution On the political road
This... I know...is true.

And as the tide of twilight is now ebbing away
I see the earths tears rise upwards into the sky
And Within this softly slow rising there ‘s breathing,
In a tired world that seems to be so full of lies.

And In this so near sacred, so silent place,
Among the now rising budding blossom
I long to grasp for the peace that rests
Along this veined, bloom filled, bosom
And in the crimson of the setting sun,
Whose dim light is casts on these fibrous hills;
And In-between the clamor of the curling bells,
And amid the culling of the cracking daffodils;
I finally find the time to rest -and here- recline.
For twilight is now softly slow breathing;
And that...my love...is fine.