The horizon was red
And I wondered the colour was blue; stamped Imbecile
My caput rolled down the stairs… there was red everywhere.
They licked every drop that fell, thirst was not the reason.
I had walked high.
‘You have your red… what more’?
“Oh there’s the smell!! There’s the warmth!! There’s the Red!!”
I walk down the square.
The paint is dazzling! The colour so bright.
‘Don’t you notice?’ the passer by, repulsion in his stride and lifelessness in his whisper, replies ‘Comrade’.
Blindfold.
Bayonets.
Lo! Behold!
I feel the wall,
And the sweat cold.
‘You had my head!’
“We want your Red”.
I felt the burning lead.
I walk again.
‘Do you see the sun?’
“Not until its red.”
I shoot a look. The dark spots and the dangling neck seem familiar in her.
I smell the wind, the stench intensifies.
A smile spreads across her face, serene.
And with a breadth as close as red
I turn crimson.
