A crimson burn

A Poem by Pól

I witnessed this cruelty when I was about 5.

Amphibian bodies
piled up in hoards
jumping and straining
their sinuous loins
forlornly seeking freedom.

Daggers plunged
deep into flesh
cutting and ripping
slashing and hacking
cold steel flashing in the sun.

and then they returned
to their home.
Now crimson
A babbling brook
turned watery grave.

Struggling and fighting
speeding the end
thrashing the water
which mixed with their blood
and became one.