Signal Shot

as he looked down the barrel of a gun.

He was not the type to go so quietly,

angry, and tired, he felt like the hurt had finally won.

He layed it all out on the table,

as he had always done as he set every rule.

All the items he wanted to pass along,

and the note for his wife, and the kids when they got home from school.

He passed the old mirror in the hallway,

he couldn't bear to look upon his own face.

Tears streaming along his cheeks, felt a weakness,

he suffered inside the things he had done, time just could not erase.

He closed the door and locked it behind him,

and sat at the foot of the bed.

He said aloud, "Please forgive what I'm about to do."

A shot rang out that somehow missed his head.

Neighbors knocking on the windows,

doors slamming, footsteps running down the hall.

Somehow they got into the old bedroom,

grabbed the gun with his fainting fall.

Somehow the signals foretelling,

the intuitions of a wife to follow, leaving work early that fateful afternoon.

His eyes glazed with wonder and confusion,

of how she had gotten there so soon.

She got him the help that he needed,

and stayed right there by his side,

lovingly, closely committed,

letting him know it was fine if he cried.

She said, "I don't want you to end it all loudly,

you were meant to be here beside me."

Time drifted along, with love they stayed strong.

He knew somehow in his heart, when his time came he'd then go quietly.

He took the time to vent his pain,

let all of the anguish go, put away his gun.

Thankful someone had heard his cries,

anger subsided, the tired awakening, somehow in life he had won.