2016: EB POETS EXERCISE IV
Roses are Red.
Blue skies fell and the heavens pissed in the wind
While thirsty souls with wide open mouths drank from the rain
Heartless drainage where vengeful oceans of emotion flood
Cliches tire, yes Roses are red; but so also is blood
Was it poets who purchased that phrase?
From a shop defaced, bruised, beaten and dead?
Driven in a pickup…trucked out of place?
Or did bakers so cream the butter to just blow the bread?
In the violence of desperate relays, godspeed felt so delayed.
Heard every click and drop of bullet to the sand.
In between first victory, target time and finish line
It all blew up and defeat was accepted, all red had left were roses
Drape in red and exuding in fragrance
The eyes with delight and nostrils enchanted
Red, the color of life, flowing with animated rush
At the sight of Roses sprouting flesh and curves.
Rouge, a pain striking through the church hills
Knocking the virgin pews of my kneeling heart
Rose is a wood
Plucked from the vein of bleeding wall
They came to the alter for the slaughter, but not every blood was red
They all went for the funeral, but not everyone was dead
It was time to plow but they all sort to rip where they didn’t sow
Little did they know that life has a price so that you must pay what you owe
Time stalled as droplets of fear flooded my ailing heart
The portal of eternity beckoned with glamour
With ambiance so right en conscious so spent
All my eyes ate was roses in the boudoir of red death
Few knew not all Roses are Red
Prickly thorns on this seductress’ bed
She came in spring, warts and all
Withering at twilight, falling at fall