Red

Red is the touch of the reaper,
and the kiss of a princess,
warm like blood,
but cool like ice,
the truth of death and the death of truth,
the setting sun and the rising moon,
the violin player and the reaper's song,
the Northern Wind and the Grapes of Wrath,
genocide and suicide.
It has the taste of blood as well as wine,
rotten meat as well as fresh.
It gives me the smell and feeling of death,
but red is also the color of life,
for each generation that comes and goes
another comes to take its place.
So red is not just the reaper's mug,
or the snow that covers the dead,
it is the core of why we are here,
it is life itself, or so I fear.