The Setting Sun

He gazed upon a setting sun

Hewn in the bloodiest of reds

And his gaze it was rapturous

For had the power of wants

Taken on a life for real

Should he drink deeply of that sun

So that the crimson light

Would flow within his veins

And feed him as his blood

Thane his life would be renewed

His youth at full restored

But he knew that he had missed

The time for such redemption

For he had never felt the need to stop

When his body yet had vigor

To stand in awe and stare

At a scarlet setting sun

 

By Richard Herring

(Age 17)