Blood Poem by Linda Brooks
Blood
Rating: ★5.0
What is blood?
It's the thing you write with,
the stuff we spill not caring whose it is,
only that we need our fill of it like a tick needs it to live.
We take it regardless if it is innocent or evil,
it flows through our veins;
pulsing and quicking,
with each beat of our so called heart
Some still drink
but I've had my fill of it.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: caring,evil
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8/6/2026 8:06:15 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
You successfully bring out the disgust I also feel about all the blood spilt by humans.