This piece was written to thank the good people who have retweeted my earlier post. I figure the best thanks is a deeper dedication to the craft, and I chose to thank you all in Red.
Red is the color of roses,
poets love to capture not define.
Red is never the color of eyes,
forcing observers to instead find nature's eyes.
Red is forever the full stop
only to first-world rules.
And Red is the most tomato:
the strength to move a mountain.
Red is one-third the history and making
of the country that was dreamed into being.
And red the color of supernovae
are where mysteries so easily keep:
for something to burn that bright
there are reasons for such brightness to reach.
One beam of that light that reaches
appears in the form of a man who preaches
the dream of never, ever another
dry, pink-parched lip