The Impossible is Exhausting

many people simply look at a sunset and 

bask in in the way it slowly blossoms open like a basic rose 

peach and tangerine orange a shaded hue 

they sit on a used crepe and penny colored blanket whose thin edges are wrinkled 

and frayed so that they tickle the sweaty underside of their thighs 

and sigh and glance wistfully up at that wonderful setting sky streaked with slivers of gold

that’ll disappear in three, two one 

for those couple of minutes what are problems but things to deal with later 




but a sunset wears a mask and wears it well 

for it is only trying to show this cruel horrible world 

one last glimpse of beauty, a reminder of what they’ve could’ve become 

what they’re supposed to be 

Every evening it shines its brightest in hopes people will take pictures 

and lounge in the thin rays of light still dancing in their fingers against the navy canvas 

in hopes they may sit on that picnic blanket and dream of possibilities 

And every evening it gives up

it never really disappears each night; it simply is tired of trying the impossible