
Deathly hands moved
too quickly forward
ticking towards
disaster.
Oh that time might
have reversed.
Oh that time might
never have reached
that fated moment
nine thirteen on
the darkest morning.
Heartbreak
in a second.
Unfulfilled
lives lost,
those left behind
to suffer
living hell.
Children playing,
happy sounds,
grate on bereaved
minds unable
to voice pain
coping only
in agonising
silence,
words snared
in cobweb thoughts.
Untangling
may destroy what
sanity remains.
© Chris Nedahl October 21st 2021