A Bloody Poem
A free verse tragic glance at the stain of life
I awoke to the sound of death.
Death washed coarse and brutal on my ears.
It scraped a gnarled finger across the surface of my heart and scarred it, leaving it bleeding in the street.
Blood, life’s gold, leaked on the tarmac, was pissed on the stones. A small river of hope draining to nothingness.
In the trickle of blood was a storehouse of laughter and hopes, of childhood dreams and kindness. Swirling in the thickening liquid was the rush of love and confused emotions of desire. In the river of blood was an honesty and a truth to do right, to do for others, to give.
The blood pooled on the curb and glistened in the sun.
Baking in life’s burning source, its soul evaporated into ‘what might have been.’
Crusted and darkening to a torpid brown, it coagulates and confines. The spirit of good, the spirit of life and love evaporated as the bitterness of death shrinks the river and saps, sucks, squeezes the soul from the blood.
A caked pool of brown smudge it represents a future unknown, undiscovered, stolen. It no longer represents what is.
Another tragedy has ripped at the evacuation forces toiling in Afghanistan. If we forget, ignore or dismiss…
