My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Sound Travels

In the cold January air flame and smoke disappear

but the sound goes on forever. 

The pistol crack; the victim’s gasp,

dead before his wide-eyed head smashes against the pavement;

the screams of the passers-by;

the shouting policemen holding them back;

the wailing ambulance;

the knock, apologetic, on the door;

the crying, desperate,

left without a husband and father;

the monotone of the priest;

the 12 clicking heels take the coffin;

the sobs of the veiled

and the final, definite scraping of soil,

thrown from shovel to grave. 

The shot was still ringing out.

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3 thoughts on “Sound Travels

  1. Reblogged this on Reflections and commented:

    NOT the sounds of silence.

  2. Wondrously dark and well written 🙂

  3. Thank you Donna, I’m happy you enjoyed it. I wrote down a couple of lines with the idea of the various sounds created by the pistol shot some time last year and forgot about it. I found it again recently and this happy little ditty came out of it.

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