PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

the smell of rust, the taste of copper

the flow of syrup from the hopper

the color of a Rose on a rain soaked casket

the color of blanket flowers in October's basket

the contrast of rouge on a funeral flower

the heady, exhilarating feeling as I swallow the power

I see the fear in your eyes as you see the coming ruby tide

have no fear child for I am nothing to you

so you have nothing to hide.

For years I've said these words on many a moon drenched night

always another one under me molding me right

For years I thought this was the truth

the viscous fluid clouding the light

For years this was my youth

finding absolution in every bite

So pretty young lass do not lose heart

what I was is never more

those ways and I had to finally part

no longer will you awake sore.