The faded colors, torn
Stained and bled
With patterns of red
By the blood they bore.
Cold crept in around him
And he reached for his coat...
His coat... below the rim,
The sun... then he awoke.
It was still dark... still dark
He could see shadows though,
At least, alternating:
Darker, dark, darker, dark...
The bars and blackness flowed
And he was alone, waiting.
And the torn colors bled
Through the blood stain'd screams
Of the belov'd boy's dreams
The faded pattern, red.
But what of his dreams?
He tried to recall:
He tried... Stars? Sheaves?
Where? How? Did he fall?
Thick darkness gather'd 'round
But, he fled... got him out...
Another coat ripped away
And bound, again... again, bound.
Wherefore, didst thou doubt?
What did their mother's say?
And the colors ran red
While the pattern faded
And the thorns were plaited
Dreams... torn, stained, bled.
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Something I was thinking about... hope its not too incoherent.
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