Connie's Poem Part Two
The gunshots echoes the end,
her chest trembles,
its her last breath.
She is covered in blood,
its splattered everywhere,
it seems too much.
I ignore it and hold her still warm hand,
as her eyes stared up to heaven,
I'm wondering what she seen,
maybe I'll catch a glimpse
of an Angel taking her away.
C.P.R. fails,
the pulse is gone.
I slowly stand
only to face the murderer.
In his eyes the anger and distress
have united in a paralysis
of fear and shock.
He is mumbling,
making no sense,
the gun is held
tightly against his head.
Once he was called
Husband and Father,
now he is something
that is not man.
With disgust and fear,
I take Connie's gun
from his shaking hands.
as he is waiting
for the comfort
of the cold steel
handcuffs.
Marrage vows
were broken and silenced
in a few moments
of domestic violence.
To the man who is not a man,
its life without parole
behind brick walls till the end.
Copyright © Mark King | Year Posted 2006
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