"Murder!", I Cried

The clock struck eleven
and out came the cuckoo-bird,
whistling thrice and going back in,
and a gunshot I heard.


I ran out onto the street,
into the cold, still dark.
I had heard, but seen nothing,
except for a faint little spark.


He ran as a ghost glides,
his cape following, like a shadow.
His face was as vivid as the night sky.
“Murder!” I cried, in a voice shallow.


She fell, the bullet passing through.
White had turned brown and crimson.
She raised her hand, as if in a dream,
and then it fell, like the setting sun.


I chased the man, eager.
Bullets he kept aiming at me.
I dodged each one of them,
until one of them hit my knee.


I could not do a thing about it.
He had vanished into the night.
I limped my way back to
what was a sorry sight.


Calling an ambulance, I sat beside her.
There was something wrong.
As I stared at the face and wondered,
“Did I know the one who was gone?”


It hit me with a sudden jolt,
like thunder and lightning had struck.
I had seen her earlier today;
her car was right behind my truck.


The ambulance came in haste,
people walking here and there.
I looked down at my hands
and all I could do was stare.


After giving the police all I had,
I went inside the quiet of my home.
I couldn’t sleep till four in the morn’
the thoughts just refused to go…