The Blood

Taken verbatim from my final English project
The premise behind this poem is my fascination with blood. When I was younger, I was what some might call a “troubled teen”. A friend’s family owned a funeral home, where I spent a lot of time watching the dead be put to rights. I watched skulls being pieced together after a suicide, and watched as a body was made presentable after a car accident. I also used to cut, which furthered my fascination with blood. I attended a medical magnet program in high school, which of course included a lot of information about blood. The dynamics and the diversity of the uses for blood are intriguing to me. There are religious rights and services centered around blood, despite the fact that other religions see blood as unclean. From hospitals to butcher shops, blood has a prominent, if somewhat understated role in our society.

x . x . x . x . x`

The Blood

The blood.
So much more than a simple bodily fluid.
Racing through veins and arteries,
powering system after system.
Types and pints and genes,
The clamor for blood is universal.

The blood.
Drawn by razors, scalpels, and needles,
scrapes, lacerations, and nosebleeds.
The blood is life,
is the essence of what it is to live.
The essence of life and love
and grief and fear and anger.
Emotion flows and bubbles in the blood.
Some spill it, some drink it,
some revere it and some revile it.

The blood.
It disgusts, it soothes,
and it can utterly terrify.
It passes from mother to baby,
lung to heart,
even friend to friend.

The blood.
Rubbed onto skin,
put on display for all to see.
Sacrificed and sprinkled around,
Blessed and a blessing.
Wine and a sacrament,
only available to few.

The blood.
Life saving and life draining,
Red and blue and black and purple.
Viscous and fluid,
it can chill and boil.

The blood.
The blood can do amazing things
and inspire terrible greatness.
The blood rips and roars in ears and throats.
It’s all about the blood.


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