brushstrokes, some broad,
some as narrow as one fine hair,
are often red
scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared
their share of the crimson cream
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains
Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand
to spill the ubiquitous blood
our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but none so plentiful as the red
none so plentiful as the red
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
brushstrokes, some broad,
some as narrow as one fine hair,
are often red
scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared
their share of the crimson cream
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains
Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand
to spill the ubiquitous blood
our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but none so plentiful as the red
none so plentiful as the red
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