Sunsets

I drown myself in the nascent, crimson gloaming of daylight’s dying

When I imagine draining all the sorrow from within, this is how it is

Infinite fissures hidden beneath a lustrous tulle of rubescence, an

oveure of self-portraits defying existence in a savagely critical form of art,

with the overwhelming innocence of mindlessness; irenic and child-like

My ebon nimbus, my penitential prison, unlocks; fading into everything

Shame and regret raveling, like a straitjacket detaches from madness and all else.

Whosoever finds my shriveled, rotten congeries, may see the same as I

Write a poem for the dawning of their sunset and what it inspires them to do

Or simply gaze upon the vermilion beauty of fallen eventide, to remember it

whilst the morn fast approaches to blind them of their nightmare exceptionally

so they can fall to sleep with bliss, delusional in feeling all is well.

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Inspired by Lucy’s ‘Memory.’ poem, above is a small attempt at the Golden Shovel poetic form. In it, you choose an existing poem, or a section, using each word as the last word in each of your lines. Below is the excerpt I used from ‘Lady Lazarus’ by Sylvia Plath:

“Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.”

art: California Sunset by Osnat Tzadok

20.05.18.08.00

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