Sonnet (When I stand 'mongst Fall's crimson descent)

When I stand 'mongst Fall's crimson descent
that kisses tenderly the beating waves,
Nearer to beauty on such tranquil enclaves
I wish, only forever, to frequent.
To horizon's assonance, I esteem
to wander what has not yet come to pass,
'til existence seeks to again amass
Clutches of twilight's watercolour dream,

But as Crusoe I remain, my Friday
a pale resident of mind's desires,
that is fear, as I mourn a constant day
that lives, and dies in festering fire.
Oh mirror, pray! How weak a dreamer's breath
In this purgatory, this love, this death?