There is something about the evening

That sees the folly of the actions from the day;

The moments I chose to walk in my own light,

When it seemed life was my right of way:

And the more light there is for the making

The more the twilight has to say

About my choices;

Voices become clearer

When a blaring blue clarity

Becomes a grey hued hush

And before a black silence

Permits so many memories and dreams

To shout down just another day blinded by the light

Or lost in the anticipation of a tomorrow.

Evening is a special time,

Like January,

Eyes better focused behind than ahead,

The past not yet dead,

Not yet put to bed;

A fulcrum instead seeking balance

And vision easily reflected

Without the extremes of brightness and darkness:

The future will have its day,

The past will forever sleep in the night

But, for a time, the evening will have its say

Before I lay the clear reality of the day away and

Before the imagined fantasy of the night

Will try to sway me into another foolish construct;

That I am alone.

I am neither alone in the night

Or in control in the light;

They are but results of the bite of the apple.

Yes, creation and the Garden are best remembered

In the evening and at dawn

When shadows inhabit neither the world or my soul

And all is well and whole as in the beginning:

God the Father, the Creator Almighty,

The only One to be magnified;

The Spirit of Love to be praised in the living;

The Son waiting once again to be tried

When the feeling of the balance has died

And we bite once again into the lie

That the darkness and the light are ours.

2014.01.24.1900 ©

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