I will tell you the colours of the dying sun,
A pallette laden with bright orange, umber and bloody pink
Spread thickly across a threadbare canvas of cloud and haze.
For a brief instant, every golden age is recalled and
The world looks old and tired, yet content.
Then vivid crimson, as though it were bleeding to death,
Instead of merely moving on.
It expires and leaves only tattered grey mourning shrouds
To dress the darkening sky.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.17 seconds at 10:34am on Nov 02, 2024 via server web2.