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Although the scythe isn't the pre-eminent among the weapons of war, anyone who has been on the wrong end of, say, a peasants' revolt will know that in skilled hands it is fearsome. --Terry Pratchett, Mort

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Sunshine

shattered, a heart broken lies upon the floor
quietly, the lock clicks, as she shuts the door
walking carefully, as if shards of glass lay there

and now he does hard time inside his quiet room
memories of her long hair return again too soon
how long will it take to learn to say goodbye?

was it all an act or just a fad, how could he have known?
all that time, all those words, with nothing left to show
all those moments gone for good, what magic could be left?

<< Previous Work >> Next Work


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