The Face of Red

One morning he woke to red, fading light

And he knew that overnight

The sun had died.

 

So he pulled shut the curtains,

He reached for a bag.

Some items, some weapons, some photos he packet,

And some pocket-sized irony for his humorless world.

 

And he went to the garden, where roses bloomed pale

For they knew that their time in the light burned away.

He buried his fingers deep in the clay

And started molding three friends for his way:

 

One was fair – auburn hair,

And a beauteous shape,

A girl made from dreams and compassion,

A musician,

An artist, a muse for all tears

And a charm, with a smile that defied all his fears.

 

The second a boy with a hazelnut smile,

A true friend, yet fickle,

A free heart, a fool,

And a wizard adventurer,

Braver of dangers;

The name of a poet, the heart beating true.

 

Third, a ruler, ambitious rascal,

A bottom-born shooting star.

A brain like a razor blade, tongue like a gun,

A schemer, believer, deceiver, destroyer,

A dancer with words,

A king without crown.

 

And the four of them took off together:

Towards the dying sun.

 

To a land they came where life was all gone.

Silence ruled the barren fields,

Just ghosts, and graves, and empty houses

Scattered like dead soldiers’ shields.

 

The four of them there linked their hands

And swore an oath to never part,

No matter what the night would bring,

No matter what would break within,

Like the broken sun, or the broken hearts …

 

They kissed, they sealed their vow with blood

And felt each other, soul by soul

In spirit linked, in pride begot,

In power fostered, four made whole.

 

The love of heart, the love of soul,

The love of progress, beauty, all

Conjoined there on the slaughter-field:

A flaring light where dark would fall,

And passion gleam,

And darkness yield.

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