I found a bunch of old poems on my computer and I really wanted to share them with you all. I'd love to get some feedback and hear what y'all think of the meaning behind this. Thank so much! Try to read it with rhythm btw, it'll make more sense.
----
DAWN TO DUSK
She carries no caveat
To warn and hence born
Is the parasite; long sought
Is a host for Her unholy ghost,
She searches for a canvas,
Clean and pristine, to taint
With Her paint,
Her blacks and Her blues,
To sour the mood
With Her brooding hues,
She leaves no clues
As to who
She is,
And why
She is; She is
A creature of carnage; She has
The force of fire,
The wrath of Winter,
The will of water,
And the body of the breeze,
As natural as the trees; yet
Still a misunderstood threat,
She picks Her victim
At random and
Will become
Almighty
Here dawns the dusk
It may start slow
With a dip of the toes,
It may act swift
With a sudden shift
Of control; swallowing whole
One?s soul; She is a black hole
With a death count
None can surmount,
Do not doubt
Her aptitude
To intrude
One?s mind and violate
Its state
of peace, now deceased,
Rest in peace,
One cannot police
This new caprice,
Cannot release
Such a beast,
Here, dawn turns to dusk
How does one explain
The hijack of his brain
By such a furtive fiend,
Taking no body,
Discerned by nobody,
The concern: Is she real?
Well, she works with evil zeal,
And although concealed,
The inner havoc is easy to feel,
Like ancient Pompeii, turned grey
By ash sprayed,
All liveliness faded away,
White turns to black; a flower to a weed,
This blossoms from the seed
Planted by She
Who spreads like a vine,
Struck by no pesticide,
Growing ever so,
One cannot hope,
One cannot cope,
One only can mope,
One cannot confide,
One cannot hide,
But must abide
By his disguised
Tyrant,
Here, dusk never dies
When Hell becomes his home,
And She takes claim
To his throne; seeds of darkness sown
Take root and uproot his own
Life; he turns to the knife,
Day turns to night,
What?s wrong is now right,
And the light
Dims; what is the point
Of living joint
With a guest uninvited; igniting
Your innards; torching your spirit
And no one can hear it,
The screams, the weeps, the cries
For help as you die
Unnoticed by any eye,
So you lie
And try
To convince yourself, too
That She is not alive,
She is fiction
As your affliction
And the constriction
You feel in your throat
When they ask why
And you cannot tell
Because you do not know
And they do not understand
That you cannot withstand
Her grasp, her grip, her hold on you,
I cannot change the hue of blue,
Like the sky with Her infinite pigments,
I do not know the nature of the beast,
Or even myself in the least
It is most confusing to all,
How dusk was once dawn and
Why dawn turns to dusk
----
DAWN TO DUSK
She carries no caveat
To warn and hence born
Is the parasite; long sought
Is a host for Her unholy ghost,
She searches for a canvas,
Clean and pristine, to taint
With Her paint,
Her blacks and Her blues,
To sour the mood
With Her brooding hues,
She leaves no clues
As to who
She is,
And why
She is; She is
A creature of carnage; She has
The force of fire,
The wrath of Winter,
The will of water,
And the body of the breeze,
As natural as the trees; yet
Still a misunderstood threat,
She picks Her victim
At random and
Will become
Almighty
Here dawns the dusk
It may start slow
With a dip of the toes,
It may act swift
With a sudden shift
Of control; swallowing whole
One?s soul; She is a black hole
With a death count
None can surmount,
Do not doubt
Her aptitude
To intrude
One?s mind and violate
Its state
of peace, now deceased,
Rest in peace,
One cannot police
This new caprice,
Cannot release
Such a beast,
Here, dawn turns to dusk
How does one explain
The hijack of his brain
By such a furtive fiend,
Taking no body,
Discerned by nobody,
The concern: Is she real?
Well, she works with evil zeal,
And although concealed,
The inner havoc is easy to feel,
Like ancient Pompeii, turned grey
By ash sprayed,
All liveliness faded away,
White turns to black; a flower to a weed,
This blossoms from the seed
Planted by She
Who spreads like a vine,
Struck by no pesticide,
Growing ever so,
One cannot hope,
One cannot cope,
One only can mope,
One cannot confide,
One cannot hide,
But must abide
By his disguised
Tyrant,
Here, dusk never dies
When Hell becomes his home,
And She takes claim
To his throne; seeds of darkness sown
Take root and uproot his own
Life; he turns to the knife,
Day turns to night,
What?s wrong is now right,
And the light
Dims; what is the point
Of living joint
With a guest uninvited; igniting
Your innards; torching your spirit
And no one can hear it,
The screams, the weeps, the cries
For help as you die
Unnoticed by any eye,
So you lie
And try
To convince yourself, too
That She is not alive,
She is fiction
As your affliction
And the constriction
You feel in your throat
When they ask why
And you cannot tell
Because you do not know
And they do not understand
That you cannot withstand
Her grasp, her grip, her hold on you,
I cannot change the hue of blue,
Like the sky with Her infinite pigments,
I do not know the nature of the beast,
Or even myself in the least
It is most confusing to all,
How dusk was once dawn and
Why dawn turns to dusk
