Judah Mahay, Author

When a Bullet Strikes the Rain

 

Vanishing, one following the next
Eyes squint at the dark
Droplets sizzle with staccato
Speed equates to the sear
A path laced with intent

Quaking, she envisioning the casket
Finger flicks from the trigger
Fabric unweaves with requiescence
Choices lead to outcomes
Are all paths laced with intent

Shattering, both losing the memory
Air blasts from lungs
Skin rends without discourse
Pain asks what is between
What paths are not laced with intent

Hating, he admonishing the regret
Pistol falls from grip
Lead digs without remorse
Fragments dissolve to void
Intent pervades even after death


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