Cory Ruda

Rookie (7/31/91)

Black Swallows Red - Poem by Cory Ruda

Life is so often thought of like an object,
existing like a chair or an oven
until death comes by and removes it,
whisking it away, the inexorable thief in the night.
Does no one find this strange?
'The only thing certain in life is death; '
this statement is wrong.
Death isn't in life, it is outside of it,
separate, always there,
the back drop for Shakespeare's players.
Death is not in life because life is inside death,
acting as a state of distraction,
a momentary pause,
before the boat crashes into the sea.
What does anyone have at the end?
Life is no longer theirs,
not even a speck left behind.
Death lingers, alone.
It grasps all,
yet holds nothing.
'Black swallows red, '
No. Red was never there.
There was only black.

Listen to this poem:

Poet's Notes about The Poem

This is a nod to John Logan's play 'Red' about Mark Rothko. It isn't what Rothko meant by the line, but so what?

Comments about Black Swallows Red by Cory Ruda

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 16, 2013

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 16, 2013


[Hata Bildir]