[Image from SolarCrash]
[Inspired by Dorothy’s “Gun In My Hand”:]
What had he done?
An idea so simple when thought; but
to follow through, to make solid a concept…
That’s to play God, create a new future.
He’d done that.
Played with powers
over and above himself. Believed
he’d emulate the coyote’s wiliness
and escape out the back door of outcome.
His Angel had dictated otherwise.
Smooth skin, so silky beneath his hands,
seemed tainted. He’d shift, restless
in the bed, lift his palms to his face at night
and still see the blood –
so much blood –
dripping to the floor. Remnant of his sins.
It wouldn’t matter if they’d not.
Wouldn’t have happened if she’d not.
Wouldn’t be thinking about it if she’d left
Endless, the nights of thinking,
not knowing what to think
or be – anymore.
Was this rebirth before death?
He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat –
certainly not his mother’s eggs.
Would there be a tomorrow, or
would his conscience destroy
what his enemy had not?
As he traced his fingers over
his love’s alabaster skin, he could still see
the red trail that led from the Docks.
Could still feel his past waiting,
breathing down his neck
as he pegged the clothes out to dry on the line.
Fragile, this idyll; more fragile,
their actual safety.
Dangerous, the potential act of revenge.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]