Red is the color of its thoughts
No longer are they separate
No longer are they divorced
Faces in the shadows seen
A nose and two eyes
Or a mouth and beard
Front legs of an animal
maybe the hind quarters of a deer,
Trees and limbs brushed up
against each other in a storm,
perhaps a wheel or time string
connecting what we hold dear,
mockingbirds taunt the living
as well as the dead - no respect
have they ever been given
nor have they offered either,
depths of despair filter through
our subconsciousness like the rain
falls through the skies
leaving nothing in it wake except
those who want to be found.
April 28, 2025
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