Rose Red River Bled




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 Goblin “Profondo Rosso”




It is midnight in the garden
Of my dreams
As silent timeless verse asserts the hardening of earth beneath her tiny little feet
Northern seas they swirl to greet the ardent breeze of furled mystique
Antique throne of pearl bespeaks the majesty of romantique
Through flimsy veil of travesty the eyes of whimsy peek
Reality meets fantasy beneath the moonlit canopy
Absent to the fallacy of thieves


There is blood upon my greaves
As my heart it gently weeps
And the colours of my body’s tears bleed into most persistent fears
Thrills and spills my stiffened limbs
My quill doth spill akin to blushing quim
Gushing forth the crimson fountain
Showering the grounds with ruby spears


Abounding souvenirs of untold tales regaled for years and years
Yet, seldom ever told with boldness
Less the coldness disappears
With warmth they dress the blessed caress of finger tips that lend finessed address to evanesce
Remembered nonetheless
In acquiescence of a love which never lessens
Cleft impressions left upon the barely beating heart within my chest
Seeping from the arteries
In keeping with their mastery
To mastermind the kind of bleed that deepens every single time I’m bled


Rose red river
Giver of the only seamless dreams I ever dreamt
Coming hither to deliver message sent
Hell’s high water alters course, absorbing stalks of reeds that bleed the essence of the heavens relished scent
Rummaging through wreckage of another thing that came
Plundering the fortresses of unremitting pain


Twinning planes of thinning veins
Impulsed embrace coagulating
Clots of love
Forget-me-nots fit hand in glove with singing praises
Making daisies into blinging chains to wear as ankle bracelets
Every platelet Gaelic in its Irish themed replenishing of jewels within embellishing the crown of proud emplacement
Replacement of a moon debased in favour of the sun
Adjacently they’re spun amidst the river bled vermilion
Crimson is the shade parading every teardrop ever shed
One of one in but one in a million
I rest my head upon her chest
Amidst a bed of moss, its gloss abreast of every lost and found repent misspent of penicillin
Filling the pavilion from mezzanine to atrium
In bloom akin to wildest of geranium
And everlong procession of the rose red river bled






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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  1. Never have I read anything as beautifully genius. Adore the roses and Celtic mention, my favourite flower, meaning of my name (Rose of Sharon) and Scottish birth. Utterly devastating work. Wow.

    1. Of all my recent work, this is perhaps the one of which I am most proud, Mouse. Therefore, I am absolutely beaming at your praise. You do know how to humble Lion. And I love that you shared the meaning of your name. Precious as a rose.

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