And he stands there.

Waits.

Left

bereft.

Disbelieving his dream

his

nightmare; blinks

blinks…thinks.

Thinks!

No tears; dry. Too dry    to try    to

cry.

Scratchy; hoarse

as his heart; beats.

Beats!

Bleats.

Empty             space.

 

Blank       bed.

Gone; no more – no

sight to see – no

words…

to speak.

Quiet.

Tranquil.

LOUD.

DEAFENING!

Head-splitting.

 

And he stands there.

©pofacedpoetry (2018) Billy Reynard-Bowness – all rights reserved

Sign up to our Mailing List

Sign up to receive communications from Creative Future, including opportunities, updates on activities and more.

!
!
!
Something went wrong. Please check your entries and try again.
Scroll to Top