Red looked down at his infant son
The babe just newly born
And knew he'd raise him different so
He would not deal with scorn
He kept him from the color red
He slathered him in green
He worked to form him day and night
So no red could be seen
Until at last his son had grown
Into a bitter man
Who did not smile anymore—
Which was not old Red's plan
"Why do you groan and ache so much!"
Red ranted and he raved
"I saved you from the color red,
Yet still you act enslaved!"
"You saved me from the blood, that's true,
As well as lust and rage.
But somehow you have clearly missed
In your unseeing age—
You burdened me with other things
Without a single choice.
For now I'm stuck with jealousy—
With venom and no voice."
And Red looked at his son and saw
The colors he had masked
The happy man he could have been
If he had only asked
YOU ARE READING
Poems to Leave Streaks of Ink
PoetryAnd I'd rage at the monsters, But that's the task of fools, Who cannot bring themselves to know, Monsters are humans' tools... I write poems like this, just usually longer...feel free to give some of them a read:)
