Lightning Strikes: A Dream Destroyed

Lightning Strikes: A Dream Destroyed

He mowed the lawn, he fixed the gate,

He never once came home too late.

He thought her smile was meant for him,

And love, he said, would never dim.

His sister came one quiet day,

She looked at him, unsure what to say.

“I saw her, near the riverside,

Hand in hand with a man in a suit and tie.”

He laughed at first, said, “That’s not right,

She held me close just last night.”

But doubt crept in like autumn rain,

A slow, cold whisper bringing pain.

He asked her plain, she didn’t lie.

She didn’t flinch, she didn’t cry.

“It’s true,” she said, then packed her things,

No second thoughts, no wedding rings.

He stared at walls for days and weeks,

He barely ate, he couldn’t speak.

The bed was cold, the nights were long,

The radio played their wedding song.

She was his first, his only love,

He begged for signs from God above.

But silence came, and nothing more,

Except a note dropped by the door.

They found him still, in his old chair,

No smile, no light, just vacant stare.

The pills were gone, the bottle dry,

A broken man who couldn’t cry.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The Wife’s View What I Left Behind

I watched him trim the hedge again,

That same old shirt, that look of plain.

He loved me, yes, I knew he did,

But in that house, my heart was hid.

He whispered dreams I used to share,

But all I felt was heavy air.

The years went by, the fire died,

And with the silence, so did I.

I met a man with newer words,

He made me laugh, he made me heard.

It wasn’t planned, I didn’t scheme,

But somewhere else, I dared to dream.

When he asked me, I told the truth,

No stammer, sorrow, or excuse.

I took my bag, I shut the door—

I didn’t think he’d want me more.

But now I pace the hotel floor,

His name still written on the drawer.

I thought he’d cry, then start again.

I never guessed I’d be his end.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Too Late to Mend

(Sister’s voice)

I saw them first, down by the weir,

His wife, not his, with someone near.

Her hand in his like threads of gold,

While my brother worked in cold.

I held it in, I bit my lip,

But truth like this begins to slip.

He smiled that day, he made her tea,

And all I thought was, How can she?

I told him slow, he laughed it off,

Then looked again—his laugh went soft.

I watched him dim, day after day,

And still she turned and walked away.

He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t eat,

He shuffled slow on aching feet.

The man I knew was not the same,

He lost his light, he lost his name.

I found him there, too still to wake,

A teacup full, a silent ache.

The pills were gone, the bottle dry,

Some goodbyes never mean goodbye.

The End.