Red
Red
Red - the colour of birth,
Of the crimson cloak
Shrouding the joyous mirth,
And of the fragile feet
Untouched by this sordid earth.
Red -The colour of romance,
Of ruby roses and paper hearts
Wherefore love is enhanced,
And of the coral cheeks that blush
Upon true love's first glance.
Red- the colour of grandiose,
Of Chanel clutches and Gucci shoes
Thronged in Madison avenue stores.
And of the smear on that luscious lips
For which a fortune it did cost.
Red – the colour of peace,
Of the scarlet sky at dusk
Ever so surreal and serene,
And of the autumn woods which entraps
Visitors into an enchanted dream.
Red – the colour of sorrow,
Of russet eyes that swell
With endless tears to follow.
And of sore hands that toiled throughout
Only for a hopeless tomorrow.
Red- the colour of pain
Of that claret mole, having numbered one's days,
Blotching the skin so frail
And of the spew coughed up
With agonising ever-lasting strain.
RED- the colour of death
Of blood splattered murky walls
Of a war-torn sect,
Of scars and horrors and tragedies
Deeply etched within the never forsaking wretched.
Red without which we would be dead.
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