Growing older by the minute.
The world was silent as it listened.
Piercing was the sound of the bullet.

The dew hung low and glistened,
resting on the edges of the wound.
The blood ran dry as it thickened.

Comforting, the woman crooned.
His breathing began to slow;
his heartbeat far from tuned.

The river nearby refused to flow.
Alive with a ruthless stream,
around the bend it began to grow.

The image is one I will never escape,
on my mind it rewinds like a tape.