Red

• Mehrin Rashed, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2013

He walked in stealth
In search of sinful wealth
And that night,
occurances were of,
unforgivable sin.
He carried the blade in one hand,
the other was free, carrying the brand
of the one who had bathed in red.
When he was done,
with his search of wealth
he creeped out in stealth,
blade forlorn,
both hands red, the color of the torn.
A cry wailed in the air,
A newcomer in the world, crying for it's mother.

Alas! she lay, in the room of the dead,
motionless, lifeless, covered in red.