by Bruce Campbell

Created on: November 04, 2009

When did it die, inside

The feeling that it could last?

Bundled up on the cold windy street

echoes from the past.

Laughing, I thought this is it

this is as good as it gets.

Then years came and went

in bottles of wine and packs of cigarettes.

Now there is silent tension

that fills the darkened room.

We never promised this,

a life lived inside a tomb.

Is there light, is there breath

a hope to survive, any chance at all?

Take my hand,

walk by my side,

We are walking down the hall.

Learn more about this author, Bruce Campbell.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.