A Sanguine Tear.

I think for these poems, I’m just going to let them speak for me, so this is probably the last of the pre-poem rambles for a while.


A line of fire blossoms

Across my arm

Like a field of red poppies

After the war

A finger of blood weeps out

Out of the blaze

And wanders along my flesh

A sanguine tear


The Lonely Recluse.

~ by The Lonely Recluse on September 18, 2012.

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