In that living moment the bullet goes right by me— and in between all my prayers and my eternal gratitude — the child behind me dies. “Why did it spare me and not him?”, I think over and over again— counting the lifetime of wishes that now will never come true for him.—
It goes right by me— penetrating present and future— —dreams and nightmares— I will sleep an hour more tonight— —tomorrow, an hour less— less—less until the end of my lifeline. Out of all the others who’ve died I will remember this child— little boy in the depth of my veins and the light rain that continuously falls— even as the bullet goes by and bye.— pass the fence to his grave.—
The bullet goes by me— cutting through my words— my sad attempt of an elegy for him— all the grief that my soul strives to forget— It goes right by me— chance— unsmiling me for a lifetime.—
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