When the Bullet Left the Gun
She sits upon the rain waiting.
The wind whispers in her ears,
at night she sits amid.
The candlelight praying,
praying that none of it is real.
Loneliness now her best of friend.
He comes to bless her every sight,
as she cries upon the rain.
And winds and his pillow every night.
His touch now only felt in dreams,
in her heart she feels so cold.
And the once sweet memories,
she now finds hard to hold.
Wrapped up in the moonlight.
She wipes each tear away,
as the memories keep bringing.
Her back to that one grey triaged day,
when the bullet left the gun.
Copyright © Pearl Greaves | Year Posted 2009
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