Is Water Red

A poem created when I was playing around with the fun of words. Double meanings galore, some triple too.

Red

Is water read?

Like ink stains when it dampens the words screamed in verse from every salted tongue

Like rivers falling from the eyes, that sea only to be blinded

By the unbridled reins of a miscarriage separated from the hoarse who’s lungs have screeched to a halt

Until the wheels that turn would stop moving clockwise set free by the hands of time writing in analogue

Overcast by the actors in a masquerade of people who can’t face the reality that we shouldn’t cry over spilt milk

While bloodcurdling panes are shattered and branded with a clear view sanguine hatred as the sunsets alarms of alabaster graveyards

That speak ivory empty pages that are stained glass houses

Effigies of the new-bloods that are as sturdy as a house of cards that is built up from its foundation on chance

I ask myself, is water read when the luck of the draw’s blood?

Sketched

When every king has an ace up his sleeves

All it takes a joker who’s wildcard is one with hearts, or patience, a solitaire’s sort of game

One where those who stay quiet, a loan, are to pay

And are never dealt a losing hand, where a blackjack of all trades is really just a rehearsed funeral of the game of life

Breaking even, if only for themselves

In which crocodile tears on the pages of history, are all read hearings, silent

I red between the bloodlines in the sand

For the blood spilt, is paid for under the table, by those who are willing to listen, but not judge or jeering, merely executing the will of those who pass on

Everything, when a splash of watercolours are red to their family

Is the water read like a deaf sentence at a hearing when the defendant gives his spoken word?

So I ask myself once more, is water read when the luck of the draw’s blood?

And the art of war is a game of blood, sweat, and tears, painting the town read

In an abstract way, is the water not read?

Judging a book by its cover, a ripple on the spine or a scratch on the surface of the abyss of my poetry

Is simply moonlighting pain, and death, on the side of words

In place of living with such things, I am burying death, so that I have only red, a eulogy of rhymes

Rather than the words that sit in Stillwater, with names red in anger of God’s apathy

I have red the flow of whitewater’s, the stream of thoughts that raft and flow from my mind's whirlpool

The pulse’s vein attempt of circulated essence is read by the world

As water is the read tide of life rotting in the shell of what we were, the wasted potential

Of disembodied hate

And through that bloodshed

I have blossomed into a butterfly with these red-handed words

That have stolen many’s worlds

Clipping the wings of those who have yet to drop like flies

For the world I see is only read

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Pete]

whew - i always have to catch my breath after reading you. it's always a walk on the wild side. such powerful, strong imagery. pretty cool how you stretch that color introducing your own meanings with it ... :)

And are never dealt a losing hand, where a blackjack of all trades is really just a rehearsed funeral of the game of life

Breaking even, if only for themselves

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Happy I didn't disappoint. :)

[wordman]

well you incorporated it well

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thanks wordman!

[wordman]

you`re welcome

[Robert Trakofler]

its funny i never got that expression "I see red" as soon as you say the color red I think of the dawning sun red to me has never been equated with anger rage fire brimstone and the like. disembodied hate could in fact be a poem in and of itself. Your thought flows of the bleeding isn't leading you to the swells fray in your display I like that

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm glad you enjoyed it. There are so many expressions to choose from. Many of which I haven't used before myself. But I'm learning how to incorporate them into poetry, it's a lot of fun.