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Ryan Clark Nov 2012
I glimpse upon crimson ribbons.
Streaming gloriously, in horrid scenes.
Their beauty costs a price of pain.
A feeling bathed, in bitter sweet.

Wherefore does your  hearth give?
Nurture from fiery ****.
To kindle my faltering flame,
and bolster me to my feet.

Ode to you my crimson ribbons.
My memoir symphony,
throws fists on razor edge
and tunes the song my nerves dare not sing.

Set loose with heavy hand.
Furry far unseen.
Again I see the crimson ribbons!
Not owned... by me.

— The End —