ochre

 ochre

settling in the ruin’s veins

the congealed blood that will

support the footsteps of the bled

for only they know the way that

the knives have fled to be shone

as our bare feet stand and glare

for here we stand and we wait

sometimes they return

sometimes not

but our blood is up

our hearts pump determination

to turn their blades against them 

those who are against us will be turned

dead and settling in the ochre of their sunset