Everything pushed into this frame,
all being shoved into a moment,
a gasp, a jolt,
a cold sweat mingling with tears
as mind is wrenched from
the two-ton fireball,
skin blasted from bone,
a painless death.
Pillow thrown aside,
light flickers on
and the scratching of
aged worn paper
grits against skin
as eyes search for
the headline.
Ink doesn't do justice
to blood spilled,
nor to the tears
that blotch the page.
- in memory of Allen Ginther. I'll title this later maybe
There's a lot of feeling compressed into this poem, Corey. An interesting parallel between the death from a terrifying impact and the attempt to pack the emotions into words on a small piece of paper.
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