I remember what happened
I remember what could have been
The flames beneath your feet
Match the fire in your head.
When they called you to the stand
No real trial for a sick man
Plead insane
They’re convinced it’s that way.
You sat by the piano and played
My mother’s skirt that you stole
Draped around your waist
Red lips and sunken eyes
Although they never seemed so bright
And I was scared for you then
I can’t forget
The panic in your eyes
I was scared for you then
Too close to breathe
If the last words
That I ever said
Were a plea
About the Creator
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181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo2 days ago in Fiction
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