The Art of Death
I paint in brilliant red;
Swift indiscriminate brushstrokes
Rend the canvas
Of my battlefields.
You hang me like some
Clumsy masterpiece.
Strip away the security
Of my shield
And see my stark imagery,
My epitaph
Of battles won
And lives forever lost.
I am Death
Cold and clinical.
Anna
Posted over on her site Hypercryptical
Listed as #49 over on Magpie Tales 58
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