Blood on the Rose

A shadow drifts in shades of red
Blood stains speckled on the moon,
A grave of roses under a cross to bear
Bloody footprints in the flower bed.
A man dozing in his leathered chair
A fireplace crackling within the room,
With a book of poems lying upon his chest
Another night of dreams put to rest,
By his side a bowl of sour grapes
Burning time, and burning drapes

* * *

Blood on the rose, and blood on the moon
Tomorrow came too soon...
Bloody trails in burning snow
Icy tracks across the heart,
A chill blew through when the warmth went cold
Blood on the rose, and blood on the moon

Clouds spread amidst a swallowed sky
In fists of steel and smoke
That darkened and closed its eye,
Fell the bitter drops in tears of red
Of a season passed, and the forgotten dead
Blood on the rain, and blood on my hands

Yesterday's ship slipped into a fog
As a dream that passed in the night,
The captain is buried alive at sea
In a closed casket and an outstretched hand,
While the angel of mercy laughed and looked down
As the rope hangs on the edge with folded arms,
The flag of youth hung at half mast
As the bugle wailed for the dying and for the lonely
Blood on the sail, and blood on the wings

Bloody imprints in frozen sand
Sea of promise drowns in waves of red,
The tides of memory that crashed and burned
Against the cliffs on bloody stones that cracked
Where lovers kissed in tongues that turned
Blood on the rocks, and blood on my lips

The wounded voice in scarlet night
Fell by the side like a broken wing,
A crimson feather hangs on to life
Suspended by a child's failing breaths
And the music stopped from a broken string,
A veil over the mountains
And the woods dressed in black,
As the stars gathered in the dust
Blood on the lamb, and blood on the wind

The moon turned its back to the night
And plucked a thorn from its side,
The valley floods in rivers of red
And the lake lies shattered in broken glass,
The trees bent forward and died on their knees
Blood on the waters, and blood on the leaves

Tomorrow hid behind the dawn
Who refused to rise from his bed,
The bells tolled their last
And today's date circled in red,
Time dropped his arms from the rack
And the hourglass expired on its back,
When a toast was raised to life
And knocked the cup of bloody wine,
Spilled the blossom of the past
From the fountain of dead roses
Blood on the grapes, and blood on the vines

The pen slips from my hand
And the bloody ink runs down the page,
And my words drown in a sea of red
As the picture fades from my head,
And my poems lie face down on the ground
As my tombstone and my bookmark,
I died standing up and looking back,
From a shot in the dark
Blood on the plume, and blood on the page

I see red through eyes of green
That stream down along the walls of dreams,
A tapestry shreds where a lining tore
From tiny fingers that left its prints
On bloody sheets and by the door

Tomorrow came too soon...
Blood on the rose, and blood on the moon