Blood-stained

It's the same old story
Being told and told again
The characters
Seem different
Born in different climes
Set in various milieus
Yet saying the same things
In different words
Mostly complaining of life
Of dreams floating
Out of reach
Of smiles disappearing
Before they catch the eye
Of man-made misery
Masquerading as fate
Of death coming early
Like winter's night
Of things
Taking wrong turns
Like a story writing itself
As you watch helplessly,
When the tale
Is told and without lies
You know it's
The same story everywhere
Priests terming truth heresy
And rewriting stories
In people's blood