an attempt at poetry

chapter 26: 'red'

Let's play a game!

I describe, and you just guess,

But be aware,

What I describe is not something you possess,

It's a metaphor for death,

But in the eyes of some,

(In another way)

What takes their breath away,

As they stare,

A bit emptier than before,

Rambling bout how its not fair,

And possibly calling it a whore,

But its fine, it doesn't care,

It thrives and puts them to shame,

As it should; being the heir,

To an absurd amount of fame,

Its never taken from it,

That stained reputation,

Deaf to the voices that call it unfit,

For they'll bow, along with the rest of the nation,

Whether its because of the fear,

Or cause they're trapped in its claws,

Just then, is when they see it all clear,

And promptly burst into applause,

For only the king of the dead,

Or the queen of all beauty,

Can put you to bed,

And fulfill its duty,

But now its too late,

You're already in a pool of red,

And must embrace this bittersweet fate,

Wondering what would've happened, if in time you had just fled.