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.
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