Thread: Blood

This crimson staining my hand
And streaking down my blade,
Like the tears of a sad maiden,
Tells the story of how life begins and ends.

It starts with blood shed,
During the miracle of birth.
It is experienced with rusty patches,
But it has its beauty as well.

Like during that first kiss,
Afraid of doing it wrong,
Or walking down the aisle,
Filled to the brim with bliss.

It ends in bloody war,
Or if luck favors you,
When blood stops flowing.
And when your fire stops burning

In this is the truth:
Blood ends in blood.
In it lies the well of life;
In it lies the pool of death.

I don't follow the thread. Blood during your first kiss? walking down the aisle?

no, in that particular stanza it's talking about the beauty of life.