The Crimson Ground
Art and Poetry created by myself Marie381Uk
The Crimson Ground
The land is torn.
Shadows rise.
Blood seeps deep,
Where silence lies.
A storm above.
Its mouth is wide.
The clouds are split,
With secrets inside.
The earth remembers.
It burns in folds.
The colour of sorrow,
The colour of old.
No leaf grows here.
No roots take hold.
Only the weight,
Of stories untold.
The ground is living.
It breathes in pain.
The crimson ground,
Will drink again.
A wind moves low.
It whispers names.
Of men, of women,
Of forgotten flames.
Rocks crack open.
The soil sighs.
A river of echoes,
Runs beneath the skies.
Darkness crawls.
It thickens the air.
Every step taken,
Draws blood elsewhere.
Bones lie hidden.
Under the crust.
A testament silent,
To grief and mistrust.
The storm speaks now.
Its voice a knife.
Slicing the memory,
Of stolen life.
Nothing forgives here.
Nothing will mend.
The crimson ground waits,
Until the end.
It drinks the rain.
It drinks the dew.
It drinks the fear,
Of those it knew.
And in the night,
When the moon bleeds low,
The land exhales,
A darkened glow.
The ground remembers.
It burns again.
Forever crimson,
Forever pain.
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)
Almost dark Tolkien/Norse Mythology, excellent words
When blood flows no one knows the reasons for, but will good come from it yes or no. Your poem lets us think. Good job.