A Childs Cry

A poem of desperation

The gun sits poised in
his mouth. Knowing his anger,
fear, and loneliness will end with
a crack, a puff of smoke, and a
red stain on the wall to mark his
passing through life. Trembling like
the baby reaching out for the first
time, unsure of it's control,
his fingers wrapped around the
trigger. Who will be there? He
thinks. Who is here? He counters
with deadly resignation. The trembling
and tears stop with a smile. The
hammer falls, but he doesn't hear it.