Words Stain

The crimson hue draped the walls,
The velvet veil cloaked the light,

Shiny red carpets stretched the floor—
For the whispers of the hunt had just begun.

One pale thread among the velvet tide—

A stir begun
With every inch moved forward.

Hushing the stillness
Edging around,

Peeking in—

The words that pour,
Swirl as wine,
Whirl the glass and keep inside.

Softly contained yet deeply felt,
Raising them at moments you sip it in.

The words will weigh you; the voices will drain,
The volume rising will certainly strain.

Tipsy, you might miss the step,
Tilt the glass and you make a mess.

Crystals kiss the ground in shards

As the wine bleeds where silence lay.

What was held,
Now stains the floor —

A bloom of red clings the silk at edge.

The whispers once caged begin to sway
Like lips that ache but never say.