In the rhapsodic murmur of twilight, where the penumbra of past dances,
I weave an iridescent tarantella with the phantoms of forgotten chances.
The crepuscular ballet spins, through gossamer threads of yesteryear's lullaby,
Twirling in a pas de deux of sombras, under the nonpareil indigo sky.
Through the chiaroscuro of times bygone, shadows cavort in a poignant spectacle,
Caught in the labyrinthine quagmire of memories, both saccharine and sceptical.
Here, in the half-light, where pathos and euphoria do reside,
I pirouette with the phantom echoes, along the fleeting tide.
In the opalescent embrace of moonlight, where silence dances upon my tongue,
I saunter through the sepia echoes of the unspoken, unsung.
Conversing with the umbra in the dialect of dulcet despair,
An intricate gavotte, nimbly tread through the shimmering air.
Ineffable whispers of the past, play a spectral pavane, so gentle,
I sway with the vestiges of dreams, poignant, yet incidental.
Each pirouette a pean, each plié a prayer, each leap a lament,
A macabre minuet of memories, in the hushed whisper of the firmament.
In the sable sonnet of nightfall, where the ephemeral waltzes with the etern,
I gambol with the penumbral figures, through the rhythm of taciturn.
Dancing with the umbral vestiges, a sarabande of sorrow and delight,
I find serenity in shadows, under the soft susurrus of the night.
Every balter with the unseen, a petrichor of past in present,
An aria of ancients echoes, both tormenting and pleasant.
Dancing with the shadows of lost memories, under the cosmos’ gleaming array,
In the loom of night, I find solace, as the past pirouettes away.
