It is the afternoon hour, 

the one that sets its blood 

upon the mountains.

Someone in this hour 

is suffering, 

someone loses, anguished. 

during this afternoon, 

the only heart she pressed next to her.

Some heart lingers 

where the afternoon soaks 

that bloody summit

The valley is already in shadows, 

and is filling up with calmness.

But gaze up from the depths—

the mountain is blazing, red.

During this hour,

I always begin to sing 

my invariable song of tribulation. 

Could it he that I bathe 

the summit scarlet?

I place my hand over my heart, 

and I feel my side bleeding.

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Page last edited February 14, 2000
by: PhoneBoy