Poems Drowned Beneath the Red Shadows

Snip a rope of red

it Bleeds stream on rivers on oceans

fills up to the world’s brim

and still it leaks and bursts and gushes

White of bone bourne miserably alongside

A ripped heart, torn lips, havoc of hair

and eyes shredded by the blood crows

they Hawk and clamour over

the strings of the puppeteer

wrapped tight into one mauled hand

Not too far away drowns the puppet

Shoeless, feet blistered and raw with sores

from Chasing after an unforgotten love

(truly unforgettable)

the Sparkle of jews blind the crows

one glint and they shift their talons

dark beaks dripping, feathers a dull sheen

Two and they ruffle glistening wings

Tossing rotting tendrils and souring tongues

Splatting down to vanish beneath waters red

Three and they flee on half-empty bellies

cawing Curses in hollow tones

oh the shimmering jems of vengeance

brewed with long patience and calm rage like -

the eyes watching the impossible

made possible, the inevitable brought

Smashing straight into the present

a Love lost and newly re-forged in the arms

of Another, she was not the One

she was nothing

she was -

distilled with the a spiralling descent to madness like -

the nights she awoke to the noises

she could see them, feel them even

slick of steel, red of apple, spluttering onto her

soft hands, she could not do the deed

she could not, but, then the voice drawled

he is not yours

and her hands turned rough and scabbed

she could hold a blade, she could even -

and left to age in the barrel of memory

to ripen and thicken more than even blood

and

at the most opportune time:

a wizened hag clutching the dripping silver

as it wetly slides out the chest of a dead man

her breaths quieter than the wind screaming

and beating a wreck onto the latched windows

blood bleeds blood, blood for blood

the girl, a silver moonlit tear streaking down

hand over mouth, blanketed in the shadows

darker than even the hag who raised the knife

again. and again.

she vowed. Vengeance.

and the bloody cycle will not end -

into her hands, the little scissors

its ends were sharp enough -

will it end?

* positive criticism appreciated

will update when possible