The sun will consume us in a few billion years.

Gas billows blow across space,

so quick in an instant we won’t have time to look up

to call

to scream

to whisper

those last unsaid words;


The gray image is my innards,

A hole where the cancer used to be.

It is relief

It is hope

It is life.

A fossil.

We dig them up in the deserts.

All the things that grew, walked and flew

That roared in the darkness; all they ate;

Coupled, shameless, the parts of exultant being.

They, too, blasted to dust.

Will they laugh at us when we join them

Unable to change fate?

Your eyes were dark that first time

Unfulfilled with a first kiss.

The grey image shows the hole of what’s taken;

It does  not show the touch of your mouth.

You thought in jest that  I made fun of your hair.

Sighs come before screams.

About michaelstephendaigle

I have been writing most of my life. I am the author of the award-winning Frank Nagler Mystery series. "The Swamps of Jersey (2014); "A Game Called Dead" (2016) -- a Runner-Up in the 2016 Shelf Unbound Indie Author Contest; and "The Weight of Living" (2017) -- First Place winner for Mysteries in the Royal Dragonfly Book Awards Contest.
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