The Bleeding Rock

The Bleeding Rock

A Poem by Blake Martin
"

He'll be back

"
In my town, hidden deep in the hiking trails of a secret park, there is a rock that bleeds. The owners of the park, retired professors of some sort, say that it's origin is unknown, but they think some Native American tribe used to worship it. Religious yahoos, as one tends to find in Alabama, believe it's the never ending blood of Christ our Lord and Savior. Hallelujah!
I believe it is the blood of a martyr. A martyr that dies a million times a day for a million senseless reasons. It is the innocence of America that bleeds in that rock.
It sounds sad doesn't it? The innocence of a country bleeding out, clouding the pure creek that flows around it, staining it's waters with blood. The map the owners of the park made calls this "Bloody Rock." I call it "Hope Rock." As long as this rock bleeds I have evidence that my country still has innocence, and, by the strength of it's flow, hope that it always will.
Once I followed the red creek down. The dark stain of blood lifted and turned to a tint of red, then, finally, it disappeared completely. It revealed the smooth rocks at the bottom and the tadpoles dwelling inside.

© 2014 Blake Martin


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Added on August 19, 2014
Last Updated on August 19, 2014

Author

Blake Martin
Blake Martin

Florence, AL



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ill use my mind lasers to burn you and make you go insane by planting worms into your brain......huh? more..

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