Last Moments

The heavy remedy lays silent,
still in my nervous hand,
doubt does not sit on my mind,
but Gods judgment stays the
trigger.

My home is quiet.
The soundtrack of my daily hours,
the record is stuck on a skip,
is there even more to be played?
A wind knocks at my window,
may it be you joy?
Swallow you whole and you can
purge me?

Leave the gun for another soul,
wanting an escape as I did?
Such thinking should bring on
change.
Like in romance novels,
my love comes to stop the bullet,
or God sends a sign,
knocking suicide out like thunder,
from my innocent mind.

This is no movie.

Cold steel will carry me,
perhaps somewhere cleaner,
or somewhere soundless?
The weight feels lighter,
my courage gaining fat,
perhaps I shouldn't.
Life may hold something good,
or even better?
Dare I let the word hang on my
tongue.
My words and prayers are nonsense.

This conclusion here,
and the one on to the future are
one in the same.
My temple feels its cold nose,
and the show comes to an end.
Just a stage of bad jokes.

Reviews

[Enid Blake]

Good poem, I like your closing line.
The first line of 2nd verse reads 'my home is quite.'
I assume it should be 'quiet' ?

[Mr. Lou]

yeah i know. i saw but didnt have time to change it. thanks.