Red


It's all about your point of view.
I see now
Red is the devil's tool.
I know
Red preaches about the shallows of death.
Lies are spread that
Red doesn't mark flaws.
Only teachers tell us that
Through a pen tip, it breeds innovation.
Red is supple and flushed,
Only when pulsing through me.
Red shows him my emotions,
Like my inner thoughts are now his.
Red is the bonding stain on his lips from mine,
I falsely exclaim.
Red's flames flicker with menace,
Red is a miser, lending life and demanding its return.
People are mistaken in thinking
Red spares tears through warning.
And I have observed
Red is a dictator.
It is foolish to presume
Red's cautions are a necessity for safety.
And I have resolved that
Red will always be a burden,
Unless I change my perspective,
(Now read this poem from bottom to top.)

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