Red Regret (poem, sonnet)

No one, no thing, can sit still,
With the desires of natures will to fill,
All consumed, entombed, in this nights chill.

We chase the fields of gray, we stray,
While an undeniable force leads the way,
And stifles the voice that calls us to stay.

It’s crimson that we seek to find,
Those ruby drops consume our mind,
Provision possessed, as good as blind.

This pursuit is past our own will,
And so you see to our dismay,
Our way of life, is life unkind.

So judge us not, by fang or fan,
For the blood’s the measure of the man.