Sanguine Poetry

By: Veronika

Like bleak September, at the table
The room for one creature remains;
The fighting starts, the gunshots fire—
But peace is all we want to gain. 

Like Arthur’s knights awaiting orders,
We cannot move; we sit and wait
Until the present, past, and future
Collectively coagulate. 

And through all this horrid surrender, 
We must continue to give chase—
Or else our dreams will turn to nightmares;
Our hopes will vanish without trace. 

And so I speak, presenting kindly
The shattered fragments of our soul…
And wish that, for an instant only—
Another alter could me hold.