Red the Stain Pt. VII
Red the vociferous rage in abundance,
Red is the sorrow for life in dismay,
Voices of reason consigned to redundance,
Red is the bloodbath confounding our way.
Red as the shock of the children of Gaza,
Red as the frightful apocalypse cloud,
Dust flying up from the pulverised plaza,
Loud animosity, willful and proud.
Red is the babe destitute of her mother,
Spattered in blood and bereft to the core,
Orphaned and lonely the paralyzed brother,
Screaming in fury at spectres of war.
Red are the cheeks of the ambulance workers,
Fretting in fever for victims of hate,
Frothing the armies, like rabid berserkers,
Crazed in aggression, a dangerous state.
Red are the tools of the doctors and surgeons,
Red are the stitches encrusted with blood,
Red the profanity bloodshed that burgeons,
Red are the corpses in piles on the mud.
Red is the angst that commands our attention,
Red is the nervousness boiling within,
Red is the pitch of the anger and tension,
Red is cycle about to begin.
adamdaniel 