Dusk of Letting Go

It comes like dusk, soft and slow,

a gentle fading, a whispered glow,

the way loss seeps into the day

and takes its light, then drifts away.

At first, the colors burn and blaze,

a final flare, a vivid haze,

but soon the hues grow muted, mild,

as night walks in, both dark and wild.

We watch the light slip down the sky,

a quiet parting, a soft goodbye.

Losing feels like this—dim and deep,

the world exhaling into sleep.

There is a beauty in that fade,

a peace in what the dusk has made,

for even shadows know to hold

the warmth of light they can’t enfold.

And though the sun sinks out of view,

its touch remains, a tender hue—

a memory that softly gleams

in fragments caught between our dreams.

So let loss come like twilight’s hand,

to darken things we thought would stand,

and leave us here, in soft repose,

where light still lingers, even as it goes.