Soul
"Your bloods are red," I have been told.
"And over top them rides the soul.
Forever bought, it's who you are, whether shy or bold."
But time and again, I feel like gold.
I am neither slaughtered, encouraged, nor stilled.
Forever lost, never bought, forever sold.
I am neither recognized nor roled.
"Alone" is not even the word.
Not a soldier, forever a sword.
Drawn across time like a cuckoo bird.
But then I closed my eyes, and all I have seen went red...
(updated 6/24)
(updated 6/24)
