Poetry

Here it comes again -
Rushing into
Pagan red
Curtains
Of a breath swaying
Autonomous
Life.

The blood of my body
Is not my own - 
It has been sacrificed, 
Long ago.

And so we dream on
In endless portals.
Waiting for the return
Of a saviour, 
Who is yet to save
A planet,
That is yet to want help.