Red, blue, and orange somehow peak,
sun blasted clouds in front
a picturesque scene no words can depict,
or the shot when it's seen.

If such beauty lies in the inanimate,
then am I to believe I too exist?
When the ringing in my chest
and esophagus
echoes with the most hollow pitch?

Blinding light bears a hole,
killing the product
with the source of it all.
I am filled with the sorrow
of watching a loved one fall.