Crimson is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold,
Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire.
(A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)
Lifeless, the smoked end of a cigar clings delicately, waiting to be flicked. The byproduct of burning, the somber ash symbolizes death 

Crimson