It was not guilt that stained his soul, but an utter lack of conscience that drove his blade. In the flames of the village he looked on, soot stained, blood drenched, grim of face and heart, the dead souls of his family goading him on to ever greater butchery #1LineWed
It was not guilt that stained his soul, or drove his blade to butchery, but the dead souls of his family. #1LineWed
Secrets real or imagined eat away at peace in the heart like canker #2BitTues
Innocence, when hope ran like water and kept the harsh stinging grit of life at bay #1LineWed
The caption on the corpse read: “Life Love & happiness” He shouldered his SIG. This guy’s pursuit was over but his was just begun
Shrouded, age-cracked grief-wracked event-fracked face.
He held a faded cloth, colour sapped, once bold and brash,
Like her. His life now void, forsaken, consigned to trash.
The years passed by, constrained, a tether strained by blight,
Yet still remembered, that magic moment, flowers folded into light,
Pungent fresh plucked scent that wrung his eyes and fractured sight,
Superposition, choices branching, neither wrong nor right,
Tears, fractal focus moulding, dancing flowers, green grass weaving, And light, like gold, falling from the sky, in shaded forest pooling.
Image fixed, a portrait hoarded in the battered broken strongbox
Of his heart, loves worn, faded, thundering token.
Until that fateful day, a glance, her scent, wafting by, a touch
Fate diverted, irresistibly drawn into lusts tight destructive clutch.
Light infused the frantic pulse of bird and bee, fecund fulcrum swung Outside,
Whilst he remained, constrained, bound by grief and loss, inside.
Yet in the Forrest multiverse, brachiate, quantum bound
Flew an Owl endlessly aloft, neither lost, nor found,
But alight, and chasing light, myriad beacons,
Love’s candles burning, a vigil never weakened.
He watched her collect her bag, shrug into her coat and stride determinedly out the door and hope, like wine, turned sour #1LineWed