Morning mist, descends
on rolling emerald slopes
gunfire rings anew
About the Creator
Dean F. Hardy
Writer from Dublin, Ireland.
*All work here is owned by Dean F. Hardy*
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
So few words and I felt like I was there 😳
Nice work!
You made this challenge one that shifts us from the impersonal to the personal. well done.
The Troubles Were Bad But Your Words Are Really Good Powerful Words Dean
Powerful piece. Well done.
The contrast of the beauty in the first two lines with the sound of violence in the last line, really made a powerful impact. Well done :)