A loud report!
His skull bursts open
the gunman’s bullet
exterminates another life.
A grotesque wound,
blood spurting from
shattered face.
Red film that covers
bone splintered flesh.
Beneath a neon light
on Fifth Avenue
the body lies.
Fate decreed life!
Was not yours to keep,
and so you died.
you had started to write
your work was young.
Powerful moving
full of promise.
Yet hey were just beginnings.
A dog howls,
in salute to your spirit.
A mournful tribute,
to what you would have written.
And a plea for your soul
lost in the night.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poem of a waste of youth, a waste of potential.