Reflections

Blazing, he reddens,
cools as he slowly falls,
losing his grip,
sliding down the sky.

Before leaving,
giving one last hurrah,
a slew of every color,
lightly brushed
onto the darkening sky.

If we only knew his secret--
if we could just rise and fall,
but be remembered
and sung about.

If our reflections could but touch
satiate one burning desire
or quench a raging thirst,
we should be so lucky.

And as we roam the dark,
endless hallways of our defeat,
we forget the sunset,
and must be satisfied
to wait until tomorrow.