Love Doesnt Whisper Poem by Eric Cockrell

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two hundred gallons of fuel oil,
standing between november
and early march...

a couple a'loads of scrap wood,
blankets worn and frazzled....
coffee pot stained and ready,

potatoes covered with lime.
a few old books, and a rocking chair
that sits empty most of the time.

some old photographs,
and a box of clothes,
gathering dust by the bed.

a candle half burnt down....
a box of matches, and
an old twelve gauge.

love doesnt whisper,
.......it screams!