Separations give us time

To appreciate those we love.

We get shocked, angry, sad,

For you will be there

Holding someone’s hand

That you never expected

Would ever show up. 

The lost son returns.

The father is ecstatic.

Happy in his redemption,

The father wildly prepares

No amount is too much.

The son gets what he came for,

Then kills his mother,

And his sister and whomever

Sees the trail of blood.

He wants to cover his tracks

But the scene is too crazy.

The best is to leave,

Without any more tracks.

He tries to escape, without an alibi

That he can remember.

If I have to state my alibi,

It will be the same.

I have no idea when or where I was

At hardly anytime, as each day runs

Together. It is a very long blur.


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

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