Silver Clouds
They float above me lazily,
rolling in the haze of yesterday's storm.
Like an old friend, reminding me that peace is soon to come.
A deep rumble emerges from the haze.
It feels as if I could touch them,
as if they were made of pure silver.
The morning dew cakes my eyelashes.
I reach out a trembling finger,
no longer afraid of the storm to come.
Big Electric Chair
Gunshots and screams
wake me from my deepest slumber
my eyes become heavy again
I read the morning paper
coffee on my breath
two people I do not know are dead at the hand of another
They take him away,
his grunts shake my home as they drag him to their car
I thought justice was served
I was wrong
he too, will be dead by the morning
his last words were a whispered "I'm sorry."
The chair stares back at me
its hulking wooden frame grinning slyly.
It has taken its victim.
Okay. That electric chair piece. Wow. So beautifully and frankly put with such a huge underlying message. You are gifted, Laura. And I love the imagery in the first piece, especially the dew on the eyelashes.
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