I seem to be in the throes of a poetic frenzy. This isn’t really a usual thing with me. Oh, I like to do funny poems, a little political satire now and then. When I feel something mushy building up in poetic form, I turn it into a song… like those songs under the button at the top of this page, which I wrote and sang myself whilst playing the guitar, hint hint…
But the truth is that I usually find serious poetry to be somewhat overdone and full of itself.
That being said, as long as I am on this kick, here is a little poem I wrote for a blogger friend who has been going through some heartache. I typed this in her comment box, and she said I could steal it back.
RED… the color of anger… the color of love…
the color of war… the color of the heart.
Red is the rose… red the blood… and I hand the rose to you even as my heart bleeds for your pain and loss… because it is all I have to give.
And as the setting sun sets the sky alight with the flames of all the colors of red which the human eye can see, and one day ends in this crimson cauldron of passion and emmotion, so too will the dawn come, shyly slipping from its pink tinge, the most delicate and blushing of all the reds, with its promise of new things coming to light.
Red is the end of some things, but it is also the continuation. As the red blood of life courses through your soul, pushed on by the beat of your heart, never still, never at ease, restless, wandering, destined to continue its journey round and round until the heart ceases to beat, yet that blood can be passed down to a new generation and in this way live on. This is the fate of love as well. It can only strive to keep going, to keep moving forward. One love may die, and another be born, but love itself remains. Like the red Phoenix climbing from the scarlet flames it shall rise again. Or like the fading embers of the fire itself, it may be rekindled where it lies.