The Bleeding Pages of Life

The Bleeding Pages of Life

The bird is black, the blood is red

each letter sings of what was said

a page can bleed as much as skin

when truth is carved and inked within

The feather strikes, the words will burn

each line a scar, each phrase a turn

a story written, fierce and raw

of what we hide and what we saw

No gentle ink, no polished rhyme

just broken glass across the spine

the bleeding pages speak of cost

of every love and every loss

The bird will perch though branches shake

it sings of ruin we cannot fake

a voice that cuts, a beak that tears

through pages soaked with human prayers

Behind the script, the red leaf bleeds

a symbol born of darker deeds

the words will smudge, the lines will fade

but blood remembers what was made

So let it drip, let feathers mark

the pages black, the margins stark

for life is written, sharp with strife

on bleeding pages torn from life