In these green veins flows the blood of the lost.
The blood of those who counted the cost.
Poets & coalmen, clerks & chefs.
Musicians musing with treble clefs.
Berbers & Hebrews, Russians in boots.
The blood of the ages, deep in the roots.
Worshipping stones… perhaps stars in the sky.
Idols with names draped in a lie.
Caliphs & sages, Moors on their steeds.
All of them dead, but not their deeds.
Forefather faults, fall down the ages.
Forefather fates, write future pages.
© The Secret Poetess, May 2017