Tuesday Tunes – Poetry Through Music, #34, 2015

guilty-bloody-hands

[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

again.

Endless, the nights of thinking,

regretting,

not regretting,

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]