“Death’s Last Image” by Walter W. Quinn III

The loudest thing I have ever heard.

Ugly metal, sleek but absurd.

Early vision appears, memories

Of times past, and distant enemies

Are long forgotten. Favorite dishes

And places to be, trips with dad’s fishes

And mom’s parties are blurred.

Detached, amazing speed is shown

As the metal through the air is flown.

My eyes only see reruns of my mind

That have not been replaced, time finds

That image of her that I loved, used over

And over again, everyone saw, moreover

She is more gone than I will be.

Whistles through the air, flying

Nearly liquid metal with death tying.

The scent of her hair, sounds of her laugh

As she shook her head, we walked along that path.

My memories crisp, with force they return,

And her eyes with great light begin to burn

A hole in my heart, long since repaired.

Flesh tearing, blood sprayed, forcing inside

As the bullet and bone, brain and pain collide.

It begins to fade. As times and dates

Disappear, dissolving at increasing rates,

My eyes hold onto that last image, scared

That lost will be all that time we had shared,

And I only wished for more.

A loud thud to all else. Limp it falls. Dead