From the inferno’s fires red
Sanguine and essence are wed
The join conceived notions
Hewn in flesh; refined in emotions.
Crimson flares and tongues in flame
Live only to consume those fed in blame
Along with the lost innocent lambs
To remain the demon’s fire in condemn.
From the ambitious day’s brightness
And from the desperate night’s darkness
There is a meeting time when gentle light
caresses
With dawn’s soothing blues of redresses;
Or with dusk’s wistful tears in crimson
prism-
Brushing life’s pained canvass into a
blended schism.
Blue is a wayward son; the reluctant
child
Who is the farthest away from all that is
wild.
If the eyes are the mirrors
to the soul
Then how we see life
Is a reflection
of each touch we make
And it is in the light
When we are blind
That darkness makes sense.
