Tender leaves trembling,
Drip silent tears of grief
Watching the demons
That haunt her lonely heart
Watery shadows slide through the gloaming,
Puddling round the old lichened gate,
Spread their inky fingers towards her still body
Blindly seeking her failing heart.
The sudden creakings and loud cracklings of the waking trees
Fail to stir her sleeping form,
Her small hand cups her cheek
As she lives in unquiet dreams.
Scarlet streamers run down her body,
While he holds her still beating heart in his huge hands
Clasped to his stained chest.
He breathes her scent into his being
Tasting the salty acrid tang of her blood
On his questing tongue.
A tiny sigh, a faint shiver
She is gone..
Slowly, sated, he rises
Lifting her to his body in one last embrace
He kisses her cooling mouth
Her eyes,
Then smiles….
Chris has been fostered at the Crowley boot camp since he turned seven. At sixteen, he is finally ready to run away because his foster father is an abusive person who works Chris and the other children to the point of exhaustion. All he has left of h
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
"Forevermore" will be remembered - a great and well-penned write!
Robert