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Poetry- Red Strokes

Red Strokes
(2007)

My hands much cold
the pen leaden in my grasp
but I still manage to write
I no longer see the black ink
only red strokes
small and disjointed
no longer clean lines
yet it all comes together
to form the words I covet most
It is my blood disguised
somehow tainted black though my eyes only see crimson
yet it still screams back what I feel
as I continue these red strokes
The will of the poet in my satiated by each word
and my aching hand is long forgotten