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Bloody
by Christopher ShinRed is the color
that I can remember
the most in my head.
As it spills into
crystal dreams.
My mind lingers for
pieces of redemption
in my own hope.
Yet I can only trace
the lyrics of words
spoken with the
passion of few.
Yet few can stand
the early morning
moon light as the
witching hour becomes
duller then my
double age sword.
Yet as I grasp the edge
the prick I feel is
from my own mind.
Yet I can only drink
into a stupor that
can ignore the pain.
A pain that never seems
to heal by itself.
So in the end I'll
complain with defeat
in the air,
and you'll read my
fate until I can
write no more.
01/30/2005 Posted on 01/30/2005
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 02/03/05 at 08:18 AM Chris, I agree with Stephan. It's a good idea, but cutting words here and there, will make it more powerful. If you want help, let me know. Good work! |
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