Waterfall

I tried to write a hexameter.

You are the waterfall frozen in time, like a taut bowstring,
Ringing like glass in the stony embrace of the bowstring.
Forever bound and then broken apart by the motion of waters —
Points of departure and no return, of birth and of death combined.

You are the golden sand spread on the endless expanse of the desert.
The sun, a sparing lord, gathers each grain with precision.
With burning fingers, it sculpts your face on the soft shifting dunes,
Whirlwinds twist your yellow hair, caressing and teasing it gently.

You are a crimson flower bent on a stem that curves into twilight,
Fed by dry blood and sustained by flesh long forgotten.
With fiery eye you gaze at the blind flickering shimmer of life,
Painting red poison across distant azure skies.

You are my finest song to a dream that has come into being,
A stream of bright hues and soft harmonious whispers,
Like secret rhythms woven in fabrics of Eastern design —
Shadows that soothe us with longing and bind us with delicate traces.