Emma Forrest Poet Free verse

Crimson Sky

Such thoughts are complicated in my mind 
and confusion draws me onto paths 
that I would not otherwise walk. 
I look up and see a crimson sky 
as blood then pours from my own eyes. 
It is brief, yet I know I have to shed blood 
So that I can be shown all the what ifs. 
She stands again like a virgin waiting, 
tied by need to a hobbled gate. 
Daddy stands there, as he never had in life 
his shotgun, handed down from his father 
with its worn wood and smoke dark grey. 
I keen to the sound of my child’s cry 
as surely as I had cried as a child, 
when in a moment he had grabbed and 
held me by the throat, leaving red bruised marks. 
Daddy, yet in truth I never called him that 
He was spun by a mother’s weakness 
and was just a tool to bend and bruise. 
I watch him shoot the virgin, me 
and the blood that pours is clean. 
The virgin died, long live the virgin 
slain by her own hand. 
“Did Daddy die?” I hear her ask. 
©EMG05

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