It reminds me of the pain,
of so many types.
It reminds me of the pride,
of so many souls.
You see it in the eyes of foes as it provokes,
welling up and beading across the paleness.
It is in the death of a day as even
the sun begins to fade.
It is in the pain and fury of souls
thriving and surviving on torment.
A great crimson cloud churning and throbbing
containing everything yet nothing at all.
Etched in the scars and folds of faces
like slashed tally marks scoring the untold pain.
The memories rusting beneath the thin veneer,
It glares through the facade of its compatriots.
The dense hue of tears and sweat,
as scores bravely lay down together.
It has infected the very being of human spirit.
As they fall slowly to the mud packed earth
as ruby blossoms wither to the end.
by Courtney Locke