Scarlet Paint/The Red Sand

by The Cowl Editor


Poetry


man standing alone in a desert
Photo courtesy of pexels.com

by Max Gilman ’25

 

Heat grew over the paint-stroked sky,

He looked up, his gaze meeting light blue heavens,

His leg could be heard dragging from miles away,

Hours passed as he made his way, slowly, through the sea of ruptured stone,

How many of these stones must have been broken down to create the liquid ground,

Having been maltreated, his time was slowly dissipating by the second,

His trail, manifested from the blood spilt out the wound,

Hills stretched as if to mock the trifling size of man,

Hammering thoughts pounded the forefront of his mind,

Heroic steps continued, leisurely, yet antagonizing,

Hard hands strike the desert’s shifting sand, ceding control, he keels over with disdain,

He looks up, his gaze meeting light blue heavens, 

Hark, a sound exerts itself throughout the barren sands cape,

Then, came the seductress, void of life, then came the cease of suffering, then, the final breath,

With red, the man painted, through death, an artist of blood,

A young boy enters the shattering wind’s domain, 

Noticing the painted ground, the red sand.