Unseen

 

I am unseen.

A heavy wooden door creaks shut, while thick metal hinges close tightly.

White pages fall like clipped angel wings,

My information, tattooed on feathers,

I am not in there, while they discuss, while they decide.

I am unseen.

Paper like freckles, seem to multiply over the black table.

The multiplying blight of my deeds infests the room.

Hiring, firing, guilty, not guilty, where do the kids go?

My fate writhes in an inverted symbiosis of information and decision.

I am unseen.

A heavy wooden door opens, while thick metal fingers of fear take hold of my heart.

I walk in the room, it seems too big, they ask me to sit.

A heavy wooden door creaks shut, while thick metal hinges close tightly.

Co-workers, family, friends, and children wait, on the other side of the door.

I am unseen.

The bullet that carries truth, rips through my heart in an instant.

One word, one act, one moment, removes the balance of remaining time.

Vacancies are filled at work, and widows remarry.

Kids ask, “Where is daddy?”

I am unseen.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Unseen

  1. I appreciate the feedback, and I agree. The writer does need to allow readers the opportunity to think, consider, and wonder. In this case, I chose to hang onto the Kid’s ask simply because it holds pace with the A –> B track I was ending with… Person, action, person, action, people (kids), question. Thank you for reading!

    Like

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