deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Woman by Crimson
A woman is a bloody thing.
Since the endometrium began to cleanse.
There used to be an Apache Sunrise Dance
for celebration.
Only a dying man bleeds in life as much as a woman every lunation,
and he doesn't survive.
Yet, the woman lives to be a constant aesthetic ever since that mark of puberty.
Aesthetics cover the tabooed bleeding.
A woman gives birth, and she's bled out,
but she often lives to see her new proliferation.
Still some drift away in love with their child climbing over the horizon.
A woman is a bloody thing.
Her pudgy babies grow, and she's in fear to be covered in their blood again.
She would jump in front of the barrel of a gun and bleed again
for her unadulterated infant.
She tries to keep her love alive as long as possible.
She has nightmares of her kid and companion goatman slayed,
bloodrops in the white snow of her pure heart.
A woman is the strongest thing.
She can outlive pains a man only considers in nuance.
A mother is a loving being.
Loving to the state of being undead.
She passes, but she becomes the purest memory
in her descendants' inner landscape.
A mother, a mother is perpetual
when fleeting lovethings die
every other day.
Since the endometrium began to cleanse.
There used to be an Apache Sunrise Dance
for celebration.
Only a dying man bleeds in life as much as a woman every lunation,
and he doesn't survive.
Yet, the woman lives to be a constant aesthetic ever since that mark of puberty.
Aesthetics cover the tabooed bleeding.
A woman gives birth, and she's bled out,
but she often lives to see her new proliferation.
Still some drift away in love with their child climbing over the horizon.
A woman is a bloody thing.
Her pudgy babies grow, and she's in fear to be covered in their blood again.
She would jump in front of the barrel of a gun and bleed again
for her unadulterated infant.
She tries to keep her love alive as long as possible.
She has nightmares of her kid and companion goatman slayed,
bloodrops in the white snow of her pure heart.
A woman is the strongest thing.
She can outlive pains a man only considers in nuance.
A mother is a loving being.
Loving to the state of being undead.
She passes, but she becomes the purest memory
in her descendants' inner landscape.
A mother, a mother is perpetual
when fleeting lovethings die
every other day.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 586
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.