Crimson sunset reflecting against the mirror
Of a white, pale moon
Streaking the glassy face
Of the lady of the twilight
In streams of dancing fire
Leaking down the ashen sky
Claret smears on the porcelain palette
Of the painter-
Now deceased
Fallen in the plummet
Of his illusory night
Bathed in the warm, sweet passing
Of the orb of fleeting golden light
Its hues of luminous fire
Dribbling down the fantasy death of radiance
In inky rivers of ruby, dying clouds
That he slashed upon the canvas
It is cast upon his world
And the Shadows dwell
In folds of paper sundown
The red-
It lingers on the brush's tip
Drops of gilded blood
Sprinkle to the floor
Its remnants sleep upon the ground
The gloom-immersed world
The painter's own created masterpiece
Of everlasting darkness.