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.