This weeks theme at Poetry Thursday is "red". My entry is merely a trifle, and it only qualifies because the themes are optional and because it uses the word "red" twice. Enjoy!


I pricked the infant Poem, watched it bleed
onto the page for me to read.
It was not ornate or complex, but fine
and simple; its blood was red, like mine.
I tended the small Poem as my child
and watched it grow up tall and wild.

I left Poem once, briefly, on its own;
when I returned, it weakly moaned
and cried for me to feed and hold
and love.

And when my Poem is old
long since gone out into the world,
its body strong, its mind unfurled,
and though it long will bleed as red as I,
I know someday my precious Poem will die.
I only hope that then, I too am dead,
so as not to dig my child's last bed.

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Anonymous Dana said...

Very nice ars poetica.

12:40 AM  

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