Who would have thought there'd be so much
Blood in him?
Black blood,
Blood stopp'd in the vein,
Dried blood,
Blood that does not know pain.
Who would have thought there'd be so much
Blood in her?
Free blood,
Blood that flows on the lunar order,
Love blood,
Blood the river of life.
Who would have thought there'd be so much
Blood in me?
Alas,
My blood
Is wasted.
It is
Treasure forsaken,
It is
Water poured upon the ground.
To dry;
And,
My love,
To die.
1 comment:
Speaking of the lunar blood:
I often wonder that such little blood can mean so much.
But, yes, blood means something when it's flowing blood.
Great triptych, Solitaire!
(If you release a collection of poems one day, the title might very well be "blood" something).
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