warm at first followed by pricks of remorse
a flash of dad’s laugh followed by the son
bright and young moments expiring fast
bolting with anxiety into memory’s corner

a dislocated soul, imprisoned by impotence
shaken and jarred with the air of silence
what good is this breath, we can’t breathe
expiration yards us over time’s jagged edge

twisting reality, all but one bullet dodged
an ember in the ash of squandered strength
faith is quietly murdered while it sleeps
clamor gives way to calm and all turns cold

we decorate mortality’s crime with a hush

Jamie Cooper (Unsplash.com)