It runs in rivers of crimson, blue and black

Words bursting forth from a page
A spilling of the soul
It runs in rivers of crimson, blue, and black
Fills up spaces in between the letters I write
Forming them into images
Pale comparisons to the real
But more intense in their emotion
Than any photograph could ever be
An avalanche of raw feeling
It runs in rivers of crimson, blue, and black
In the ancient places of my heart
I visit what was once lost
Remembrances of vine covered doorways
Windows of shattered glass
Shutters lie barren on their hinges
Courtyards fall silent
Hollow echoes dare not tread here
A blood stain on the flag stones
I lived here long ago
It runs in rivers of crimson, blue and black

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About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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2 Responses to It runs in rivers of crimson, blue and black

  1. Eric Syrdal says:

    Thank you for reposting this, Ma’am. I am honored.

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