Forty years on,
she follows the path of his ghost,
a slender and thorned road
that leads to a ruined ecstasy.
Above the carpeted dirt,
she remembers the boy’s twitching mouth,
so unaccustomed to casual pleasure,
and the slow burn of tobacco between them.
The last of the afternoon light
dripped between the hemlocks
and fell upon bare shoulders.
And she, alone, still wonders
if he ever smelled the gunpowder.
That last line is intense. Wow. Powerful writing, Steven.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, D. It surprised me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
WOW. That last line really packs a punch. I seriously have goosebumps. INCREDIBLE, Steven.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, I appreciate that. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
A great twist at the end, Steven. —- Suzanne
LikeLike
Thank you, Suzanne. ☺
LikeLike
God this is good!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much. 😊
LikeLike
You’re some kind of brilliant my friend
LikeLiked by 2 people
I don’t know what to say to that. Thank you again.
LikeLike
Steven –
such gorgeous imagery
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, AnnMarie, I appreciate that. 🙂
LikeLike
Wow. Great imagery. Twist at the end. This is great
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
WOW! yup got me too! woah…. 😮
LikeLiked by 1 person
😉 Thank you again. 🙂
LikeLike
Exceptional
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you..
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike