The crimson river is flowing again.
The inward parts of our body
Are being sucked dry.
Skin bruised black and yellow is appearing.
The heart is withering...
as every emotion, every movement,
Discussion and argument
rips at the body.
The body is breaking,
the glue is decaying,
The Love is dying,
The life is withering,
Near to death,
Just as a flower lies,
Thirsting for the sun.
We, at least I,
Thirst, just as that flower,
For an overflow of peace,
Fun and love.
I realize, though,
That with every tear
Into the broken body of our family
that we can never be the same.
We can heal,
The body can heal,
but the Scars will remain,
and the luster,
the joy,
is captured from the body,
is torn away.
