1602 Catastophe of the Heart

A grey, bloody mind makes

A shot gun echo through the house.

Crystal vase, gilded picture frame,

Royal Doulton figurines, pink plaster.

They all felt it.



Two floors below with pistol in hand.

Five and three asleep in their beds

Both jolted by a defining sound- Awake

Dad knocked by a crippling pain- Asleep-

Forever and more.



Away at the market, mother, wife.

Are the tomatoes ripe?

Oblivious to the impending guilt

She pays at the till

While he swallows the barrel.



She arrives home on the porch.

Kids frantic above, he lifeless below.

Decending the stairs, bread in hand

Crimson pools under the door.

Did she suspect?



Choking on panic, body tense

Her stillness virtually matches his own

Moments later, numbness resides

Lifted burden

The widow takes action



She drags the corpse of her past

Up the stairs, out to the yard.

Draining the house of sickness.

Later, trembling, trying to breathe,

Listen to the silence.



The children have calmed,

Bleach transformed the bloody carpet,

A stranger dismantled the gun,

His carcass decays, six feet under

But she remains paralysed-

Unable to love.

He committed the suicide of her heart.