Short Poems

A series of short poems (currently only 1) I wrote in my leisure time.

Red

Red is the color of blood,
Of passion unbound, of the festering wound,
Of the hilt, of the guard and of the blade.

Red is the color in which the world is dyed
At the birth of each new morning
And at the decline of each aging day.

Red is the color of the battlefield,
Of the infinite sea of dying faces
Who found not their peace,
And of the hands of those who did.

Red is the color I drowned in
When you tore me apart with your own hands
And left me lifeless on the darkened bay.