Fleeing Death

Fleeing death
that hung
like dreary
drapes,
the streets
were alive
with a cold
that penetrated
the soul
you still possessed.

Poem by Tom Simard
Sketch by John Spiers

This sketch was done in a city parking lot where homeless people once gathered around oil drum fires for warmth in winter. With downtown renewal projects, you won’t see that now. The office buildings still seem to hang like dreary drapes, and somewhere the homeless still hang on to life.

To read more of Tom’s creative work, please visit Tom’s WordPress blog.

“She was preceded in death by her husband, Lee…; a son, Keith…” (or “When 50 words doesn’t seem like enough”)

Everyone liked Keith, though he seldom felt it. He never had the gifts that he admired so much in others. He tried to escape from himself in some big city. I may have dreamed that midnight call when he said good bye and that he was going to kill himself.