Stark, empty bullet shells scattered, by chance,
At her feet -- bedecking the ablazed brooks
Like young poppies glistening from the rain
Of the hellish hurricanes yet to come.
Man’s fear fans flames stronger than any wind --
Strength that ruins cities, yet keeps her sane
Like the arms of a mother now afflict’d --
Boiled black, bloodshot eyes. He is not her:
Take his hand, your pride has nothing to gain.
This darkness sated with dimly shining stars
Is not the end of your heavy heartbeat
Take his hand and see the red dawn again.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Stark, empty bullet shells scattered, by chance,
At her feet -- bedecking the ablazed brooks
Like young poppies glistening from the rain
Of the hellish hurricanes yet to come.
Man’s fear fans flames stronger than any wind --
Strength that ruins cities, yet keeps her sane
Like the arms of a mother now afflict’d --
Boiled black, bloodshot eyes. He is not her:
Take his hand, your pride has nothing to gain.
This darkness sated with dimly shining stars
Is not the end of your heavy heartbeat
Take his hand and see the red dawn again.
I felt like telling a story about new love and forgetting the destruction of the past. <3
I explored the two different views of red's symbolism: passion and love versus anger and destruction.
I still need a title, perhaps you have an idea?
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