ďDeathís Last ImageĒ 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 dadís fishes
And momís 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. DeadAnd a mess, all that remains, smile.