Ill Spent Blood Poem by Pedro Cescon

Tastes of metal,
Smells of rusty salt,
Sounds like water,
Feels like hot basalt,

Looks like life...

It's been spilt wrongly,
It's been denied badly,
Asked so strongly,
And missed so sadly,

Fuel of strife...

Shameful misuse,
Shouldn't segregate,
Is assimilation's muse,
Should be fairness' legate,

Wide spread and rife...

Please STOP,
It is our BLOOD,
Every single drop,
Can start a flood,

No more spilling it,
Like it was disease,
As if is not fit,
Save it... please

For if we keep at this rate,
In an ill spent blood spry,
Might not be too late,
That we see it run dry