Red the colour of freedom
Bad memories erased, yet the mind is not free
Red the colour of freedom
Red, the cry of broken chains,
A silent scream in open veins.
No gentle hue, no soft embrace,
Just fire’s mark across a face.
The weight has gone, the shackles fall,
Yet echoes scrape along the wall.
A hollow breath, a burning thread,
Freedom walks in shades of red.
Red, the wound that will not close,
A hidden scar that no one shows.
It stains the sky, it paints the ground,
A silent rage without a sound.
The chains are dust, but still they cling,
A severed cord, a broken string.
No tender dawn, no peace ahead,
Just empty hands and rivers red.
Red, the bite of severed ties,
A rebel’s heart, a martyr’s cries.
No gentle peace, no sweet release,
Just silent wars that never cease.
It drips like rain from open scars,
A distant flame, a sky of bars.
The taste of iron, sharp and raw,
A freedom won with tooth and claw.
No golden dawn, no soft embrace,
Just bloodied hands and hollow space.
A battle fought, a price unsaid,
And every road still runs in red.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
Quite the picture you paint here. Totally inspiring in a way as well. Good job.
Freedom is red! Like blood of the people who fight for freedom! Great work! Very Gazoogabloga!