The momentum of a bullet divided by the force,
Needed to penetrate a chest.
The slow rate of speed at which,
Gravity pulls drops of blood to the ground,
As nerve sends impulse to brain of the pain felt.
The soft pitter-patter of tiny drums,
Fills head with rhythmic beats of death.
The first sight of blood spattered on a wall,
Discovered by a loving mother on her hands and knees,
Wailing to nothing.
Donating tears to solely moisturize her dead son’s body.
Her tears falling at 9.8m/s2 ricocheting,
Off the blood stained floor causing a crimson spray to cover,
Her only son’s corpse.
No for me it is different.
It is her alluring whisper diffusing,
Through the air into my ears,
At which my mind translates:
‘Good-bye’.
