Pen in hand, I struggled,
as the pages begged,
I let them be white,
even if for the day.
But my first battle
was with my tears;
I wondered, could I fill
my ink bottles with them?
No. Leaving you blank,
is to accept our defeat.
I pleaded with them.
And with silence they agreed.
But as ink touched paper,
the black turned scarlet;
My hand dropped the sword.
What dark magic is this?
"Not magic," said pen & paper,
"our brothers and sisters
were massacred yesterday.
This red is in their honour."
