The soldier shot in the heart
counts his last seconds of life
Speaks of only one thing
Of her,
sitting at home,
His wife.
With hands on his heart
He calls her name
to see her once
Just one last time
To tell her how much
She was loved by him
although to love
there wasn’t much time.
But as he counts
his last breaths
she is at home
reminiscing the moments
painting the strokes life
Counting every minute
waiting for him to return.
Slips into a red dress
his only present
Gracefully she paints him
onto the canvas
out of her memory
little did she know
this is all he is now
A memory
from the point of no return
A memory of the past
of his sacrifices
Of the birthday flowers
of the pretty red dress
of the roses on her back.
Photo Prompt given by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie photo challenge #8