Another meditation on the war...
Blood
Rich, red and thick
Coursing and pulsing
Full of life, pumping
Dripping, squirting,
Onto fields of shining golden sand,
Making viscous red puddles,
Spread like fertilizer
For the blackness below.
Barren fields where no life,
No crops, no joy at the harvest
No hope grows.
There is a reason that blood is red,
And oil is black.
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