Third Shotgun Blast

Broken pain, stained at the threshold of death.
Small black boot-marks on a white door was left.
Down came the door exposing his dark gloom.
Then, fury threw her away, doomed, doomed, doomed.
The first shotgun blast sounded a warning,
silent shadows, dark ashes crumbling.
She tried to stop him from suicide's fate.
Oasis of death, there is no escape

Desperate, she ran outside into the night
needing to hide the shotgun from his sight.
A second blast I heard as he walked past.
His fists powered by pain shattered stained glass.
Life's embers and sparks dwindled to naught.
The third shotgun blast took away his thoughts.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem