My hand moved to the pistol
Small world
She is back again
Dancing merrily on my memory
Death we walk hand in hand
Seldom is love and life fair
She comes for my time
Bourbon and mind
Fingers caress the trigger
The world explodes
All is new
Face of finder keeps
Treasure left cold on the floor
Punk spins
Catches two between the eyes
Lies fill the apartment
We bury all that is left
Daughter grabs my hand
Cries for the loss
And the voices scream
The world is dripping souls
Alley fills with the cats howl
Graveyard keeps time
Markers of place escape
My hand moved to the pistol
Small world
She is back again
Dancing merrily on my memory
Death we walk hand in hand
..but daughter lives to see another day
As I rock my granddaughter on my knee
Retired! New start! Murder!
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Very heartrending write, Walter. I hope this is fiction.
Many blessings,
+Linda
Ron