You were the Ocean.
You were the running Sea.
You were Mother Nature
And the sun shining down upon me.
You were the moonlight.
You were the stars.
You were the bleeding sunset
Suturing your scars.
But had I known of your ways.
I would have called you a painter of graves.
You killed a rainbow,
Dismembered it,
Spread its pieces about,
And basked in the glory of…
Death and deception,
The painter of the sky,
The calloused creativity,
The morbid skyline.
But, out of death arose beauty.
Every night you slay your friend,
Pull him apart,
And decorate the sky with him.
Death and life coincide like love and hate.
The sun sets,
A rainbow dies.
But, out of death, beauty will rise.
