I have heard it said that blood is thicker than water,
That a family sticks together, come hell—even hell—
No matter if they succeed or if they ever do falter,
That the viscosity of blood is best for familial swell.
For a while, to me it seemed to be wisdom and truth,
That despite unique varieties, familial bonds prevail.
Still, through a long passage of time I could forsooth
That blood’s viscosity changes, grows hard—stale—
And the crusted mountain scab takes time to heal.
If it ever really does heal for, sometimes, its torn—
Ripped off prematurely by fingers itching a feel—
Where bacteria enters and the infection’s born.
Having nearly died, I sought out a fresh supply
Of my blood—mixed in a well of the blackest ink—
To transfuse through the heart—to never deny—
And stretch the viscosity to its finest, fluid brink.
Since then, I do think, that I have found my place,
Viscous enough to heal wounds and to know to forgive,
But, now my family includes many in a poetic space,
Where the ink will flow free and enter hearts to live.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline)
- Published: April 4th, 2025 08:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: arqios, Cheeky Missy, Poetic Licence
Comments8
Loved the metaphor, the wording, and the meter. This has a strong topic that speaks to evolution, bonding and family. Very well written Tristan.
Thank you so much, Soren. Your time, your feedback, and your support are most appreciated. Always! π©ΈποΈπππ¦
Coagulation? A funny property that kicks in during the healing process, clotting is probably a more accurate term. Could poetry be a scabbing over Lunda that refuse to heal? Mmmβ¦ fodder for thoughtsππ»πLiked and Favedπ€©
Indeed, and fantastic fodder at that. Thank you so much my philosophical and poetic friend! Much appreciated! π©ΈποΈπππ¦
Not sure what a βLundaβ is though; auto spell messes me up when my guard is down, lolππ»ποΈ
βwoundsβ I think it was meant to be ππ»ποΈ
You cull Shakespeare adroutly herein, and too prettily too, my la! "...in black ink my love--" and from the initial knowledge of family to the larger reality, weave the fabric of a garment seems the world might wear. Gorgeously rendered with exquisite imagery and a fascinating, intriguing, haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
Wow! Thank you my dear friend and Sonneteer. To have you invoke Shakespeare in any way related to my work humbles and honors me. βΊοΈ Thank you for your time, your comment and your support. It is always appreciated! π©ΈποΈπππ¦
Adroitly. Sorry about that typo.
That pic's a bit dark - put a light on! lol.
π€£ Thank you, my friend. Doing that presently. π©ΈποΈπππ¦
I spot these dark things, ya know! lol.
Totally! LOL!
Poetry is the plaster to cover the wounds and pain, that in the real world we would never show. A way of releasing those demons that torment us every day into a relatively safe environment, in the process allowing us to possibly heal but more importantly letting us that we are not alone in our struggles and experiences , enjoyed the read
π― Truth! You are most welcome, my friend! I very much appreciate your read, analysis, and support. π©ΈποΈπππ¦
You are very welcome
Excellent write Tristan
Thank you so much, Tony! π©ΈποΈπππ¦
Nicely done! I love the last line
Where ink will flow free and enter hearts to live
Thank you. Yes, I knew that line was just right when I penned it. It was a good feeling and it is an even better feeling that you felt so too. Thank you so much, Courtnie, for your time and feedback. Much appreciated!π©ΈποΈπππ¦
Even blood needs a little water to write better
Truth! Thank you for your time and for getting it. You rock! π©Έπ§ποΈπππ¦
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.