Offering

Brush my hands through
the wild grass, faintly
tipped in blood. At first,
a drop. I close my eyes
and it begins to trickle
even pooling, my offering
by knife-edge a sharpened
blade slips into rugged palm.
I feel my way to the riverbed
to obscure the waters, provided
the blood spreads diluting deeply
rather than thinning too sparsely.
Further dripping to its roots
to restore her soul essence
yearning in the riverbed.
The flowers, do you see?
Sprouting free, rose thorns
reaching out to thank me.
Beauty blooms in bountiful sunlight
glistening in the radiance, dressed
red, a gorgeous.. sinister red. Take
it and feed, whilst I regenerate.
Nary a soul denies fresh water....