Painted Red

(This poem was requested for a story being written by a friend)

Painted red:
The grass, the trees, the sky,
Should all be painted red.
Red is the ink of the blood of us all;
Green is the parchment of life,
And it is painted red.
The blood of my veins,
Of my father, my mother,
Spilled forth, painting red,
But not from my flesh.
The ink was hers, not mine.
The ink of man and woman
Pools deeply, on the ground,
And I have lost a sister,
So the world is painted red.