slow the wind dost blow,
a sadder light hath the morrow
brought for me;

colour of crimson fire breeches
over the expanse,
a boiling sphere;
the embodiment of wrath,

beauteous is her sky,
as the lips of the days light
kiss the darkened lips of night;

cold, forgotten is her cornerstone;
the reflection of her soul,
rested upon the heavens, it sits,

              Solar Flares

                      &

             Moon Beams

Oh, this forbidden love, I dare to breath in!

bristles tender bristles,
birth a soft touch beneath my fingers,
like that of a fine silk brush,

driven to a blissful land,
walking upon this field of grass so simple, it driveth the painter mad,

t's the break of dawn
which begets the fall of night,
this equilibrium stop; its twilight,

the moment draws ever nigh,
whence the heart of Colour shall rest within the Soul of her reflection
once more...