The Crimson Sky
The shedding of crimson,
Into the vessel of existence.
Lieu the vessel of inconsequential cosmic dust,
Calling out to the breathing herd.
The crimson sky,
Like the cloth of majestic imperialism.
The way and the feel of the sturdy veins,
On the crimson withered autumn leaf,
That ran unhindered, inescapable.
Like the infinite sky,
It held the blood of every martyr.
Like the scent of rotten existence,
Once again seeking for the plains of Arcady.
– Imaan Siddiq
The Genres of Life 