At Dusk

dreary days with fog newly born at dusk
the hills hid away; their silhouettes torn at dusk

a teenage girl stood barefoot on the lawn
mud pressed between her toes; she came to mourn at dusk

trapped in busy days and silent nights
she took a breath and hid from scorn at dusk

pillows held her tears—the shame she swallowed
in plain sight, still unseen and forlorn at dusk

holes in the wall; her fists fit perfectly
each told a story of her anger borne at dusk

hate was a weapon never turned on others
alone she held this thorn at dusk

those rainy days were her only friend
the weeping world looked just as worn at dusk

they always praised the lessons pain had taught
to them, each wound proved she was reborn at dusk

undone by the lessons they praised
she only wished to live untorn at violet dusk