The Last Victim

He dims the lights
He is not at rest
How can he be?
The voices
and the lights when he closes
his eyes

He moves as if to stand
Thinks better of it
and takes up the cigarette
the coffee
the paper
The house was on fire
and he did nothing
The memories burn
Fire wanting for heat
flame filled with pain
and dust

He shifts his weight
The chair creaks

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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