The Stain Was Her Blood!

By Angela John

The stain was of her own blood,

entwined with the tears of emptiness;

Echoing the same- “Come back, I bid!”

The eyes revealed the Ironclad World

That stands and always stood against benevolence.

The stain was of her own blood.

She breathed his essence, awakened

his feel of touch and intimate reflections.

Echoing the same- “Come back, I bid!”

Her moirai was painted red, grave red,

for she only saw a scarlet moon tainted in malice.

The stain was of her own blood.

A passionate flame glowed in her, a whisper sacred,

he traced her spine while she etched on a canvas;

echoing the same- “Come back, I bid!”

At twilight’s fall, her symphony was bought to an end.

Every stroke on the mural confessed her pulse.

The stain was of her own blood.

Echoing the same- “Come back, I bid!”

By Angela John