Still-Life w/ Cushion

Struggling to cram together the trees and the shapes
And the colors and the fury of it all
But there's interference
Even here where I can touch it
There's too much interference
And the red still seeps in
And I can't even cross it out properly

One perfect triangle (Nearly) near the Chinese Village
On the sea near the mountain o' trees, centerstage
Failed arrows intersect the snow-capped peaks
As leaned-on fences and palm trees sway in some invisible breeze

The tree, the lone tree, the one discernible shape
(If you don't count the TIE fighter, which, of course, I do)
Stands tall, firm against the abstraction where it looks like rain
Whitewash creeps in in a mad attempt to conceal the red
But only manages to form a slim stump

Under all, the kindly sage tends his Asian garden
Underneath the perfect triangle which I now see ain't so perfect
The dim outline of a headless man, victim of crimson,
Stands waiting for the final act
Sadly, the curtain has already fallen