Death In the Setting Sun

Scarlet waves wrap around her unmoving form, lifeless and pale. Closed eyes gaze at the bleeding sun that was once born in light's glory. Though the dawn of life is destined to meet its end at dusk's final hour. In the evening, the sun sinks, falling fast to its knees, into the horizon of death. Its story, like an open book, makes its tedious journey from cover to cover, from east to west. All of the hours are shown, shed in tears of light's rays. Only the night would put to an end the sorrows of life's day. Only then can the sun rest into the black cradle of death. The sun is setting, falling down. Its blood is spilling, painting the sky crimson. Blood falls into the blue ocean that is filled, already, with salty tears. Yes, the sea is mingled with blood. And still, its waves are pulling her into its hungry current. The tides will carry her soul towards the western shores, and she will follow along. On, with the sun, to the grave, hidden in the dark skies beyond.