Vermillion

In the embers of passage across strangled water , two by three by seven equals, Nothing but our imagination & an illusion of Pretence. To give up forth hence so sweet in memory , So Bland at present. I'll take a stab at a month , striving to be free of all , Yet, craving the Constant Equation , A padded word cage & Pitch of Supernova held softly. Waiting for something the Artist brushed a cloudburst to the side, satin canvas cracking as the iron wire scratched in His New Picture. Until the Moment is up & wretched comes the sun.