Dawn And Dusk Poem by Henrique Ankerkrone Caldas

Alarms are sirens in the somber room before the breaking Dawn.
Where lulling sounds are surreal farces, turned waves of quaking Dawn.

Dimmed lights are wrenched by bleaching truths torqued to torture tired minds awake,
While hearts beat wobbly through the dazing brightness of this aching Dawn.

The incessant brooding surprises with its draining stamina,
Stirred up before the body finds its habits of waking Dawn.

The wait for change becomes blasé when sulking no longer renders
Morning strolls, cloudy, cold—the comings and goings of shaking Dawn.

Love and Loss, inch by inch, fading with fate in no easy endings
When lives combine into satellites sunlit by heart-breaking Dawn.

Enlightened minds are not simply found in those who reason the most
As the brightest hearts know to also cherish a breath-taking Dawn.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The clock of shadows strikes the end of the ball. All here, praise Lord Dusk!
The master of time, the superior god. To him, let's raise. Lord Dusk!

Fear is our axe; horror is our blade! We are the darkness inside
The harrowing trauma-fractured minds of those who can't daze Lord Dusk.

It begins with the strike of 6, the 6th yearly dance of shivers
Where 6 daredevils, despondent novices, crave your blaze, Lord Dusk.

Twilight is upon us, so the ritual begins. YracS yraM,
YdoolB, yreV yrreM. Let's welcome the child of the haze, Lord Dusk!

From false stories of bygone glories, such a polar complexion,
His clashing perception of triumph. He will join your maze, Lord Dusk.

Winds of hollow words carry doubt in the face of the gallant sun
With clouds of stolen dreams. Dame Dawn is dead. Will you—yes, you—embrace...Lord Dusk?