This crimson liquid that flows through our veins,
It's not mere plasma or life that it sustains.

Blood is family; a bond that has no end,
Something that flowed till the lineage of men.

It's what makes us human; conscience a vessel,
These ropes of emotion, a curse or a blessing.

This ruby red ink stains many sinful hands,
The gift of life replaced by guilt and death.

Boundaries and religion divide the human race,
It's the color of blood that matters and we all bleed the same.