March 12, 2003

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  Today was red,
  Awash in rose crimson that bled like petals
  Across the floor.
  
  

  Someone’s words rang true
  In the drifting light that flared and died,
  Flared and died,
  Blazing through me and then drawing back
  To leave a smouldering center
  Of purified strain.
  The sweat stood upon my skin,
  And my face was drenched in freezing rain
  As the petals wafted down,
  So thick that I could barely see.
  Crimson, every one.
  
  

  Perhaps the sky was bleeding,
  Perhaps that is where the world holds dear its heart,
  And it was pierced and spurned.
  So it bled in petals
  That were swirled about in the currents of wind
  That gusted through their descending clouds of crimson.
  I ran through this place of mourning
  And blundered in a world of sunlight and red,
  For the sunset sifted through in bolts of pure rusted gold
  That made my breath leap and lift
  As I floundered in the deepening drifts
  Of crimson.
  
  

  Somehow, there was no one else
  In this confused place of twilight and beauty,
  The cities had disappeared,
  And there was nothing but myself,
  The soil,
  The petals,
  And the muffled sea.
  But then your hand brushed my cheek
  As you faded by through the storm of blood-color,
  And I cried out and ran after your apparition.
  In this land of crimson,
  How could I have seen the edge of the cliff
  As I stepped off
  And fell silently into the muffled sea?

  • 11:47 pm
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