The Color Crimson

I was walking down the street one day

Wondering why the world is as it is.

Pondering why we die, why we live, what is the meaning of it all?

Ironically, as I walked and these thoughts flitted through my mind,

I came upon a corpse, recently slain by a passing car.

The corpse was a small fox, it's orange-red coat matted

With the color of crimson blood.

I stopped by the poor fallen creature, and my ponderings stopped as well.

For here was my answer.

The answer to my wonderings upon death was lying right before me.

This poor creature, covered in crimson didn't wonder about life, didn't think of death.

It didn't question if there is a god, or if he cares.

It merely lived it's life, it's coat unblemished by crimson

Until the day it's life was cut to an end, by a blood-red hot rod.

The crimson car, and the crimson-stained fur, how much alike and yet different.

I stared up at the sky, turning my gaze from the creature, and let out a sigh

To expel all my doubts, all my fears, all my questions.

To the crimson twilight I released all my anxieties, my fears, my pain.

Suddenly, standing in the middle of the road, my head held toward the crimson twilight,

My ears caught the sound, a blaring horn from down the crimson-bathed road.

I turned my startled gaze that way, surely just like the crimson fox

And saw to my surprise, a burning streak of red careening along the road.

I waited for a long moment, ready for it to end, ready for my true answers

But just as the crimson carriage of death would have struck me

I fell away.

Rolling to sit on the side of the road, my hand landing upon the crimson-matted fox

I looked down at the poor creature and thought,

Maybe he felt just as I did…

Maybe he found his answers…

Petting the blood-covered corpse I smiled, thinking to myself:

Perhaps it's best to just ponder about some things.