Albums

Memories in Albums.

Memories in Albums.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Albums

So he’s rolling the empty wine bottles

under his feet as he takes a final drag

from his blunt.

The photo albums lay sprawled across

his lap with stagnant memories hidden

behind each plastic mirrored sleeve.

 

He weeps remembering with vivid recall

of happier days when he was a loving

father with bouncing blue eyed blond

haired children on his knees.

 

Now they filter through his glassy wet

eyes as he stands and kicks the empty

bottles whilst mumbling to his god.

Why me, why me?

 

He falls to this knees thumbing through

pages of cheerful faces looking back at

his misery, his breathing shallow, the

bleeding from his chest where a bullet

he triggered lays lodged close to his

failing heart.

 

Flashes from his past, his children

converge upon his dying soul and say

daddy, we are sorry, smiling, he knows

its time, too late to stop the finger

for a lost cause.

 

Life amounted to nothing and led

him to the bottomless pit of Hell;

a final shot is heard echoing from

his head as he fell.

 

© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved


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