- Six Empty Shells Poem by Georgios Venetopoulos

The sun was blinding, thus she stared aside,
he walked the distance to abut his fate,
a swirling, laughing wind began to slide
and jokingly their lives to desecrate.

Despite the heat, he wore the tailored suit
of color black; beneath the Stetson's shade
his stare was sweeping the adjoining butte,
with dusty ghosts to mime some odd charade.

Replacing the six empty shells he turned
to see her worried glance beyond the blooms,
that innocent embellished unconcerned
the reckless, smiling braves aside their tombs.

The Smith and Wesson forty-fours then bucked,
she knew the blooming noon was ending fast
and nothingness neglected to obstruct
what fates adjudicated to recast.

She saw the copper shells inside the dust;
monochromatic synthesis and hues
of sepia were blurring in the gust
that whirling sang their lonesomemess and blues.

Beyond the turnpike, where the roads converge
a flock of birds was messaging the tale,
the spinning wind was bringing up their dirge,
on the deserted Arizona trail.