Shadows fall heavy over Squires Row
A child of 2 summers provokes movement from a home made wooden train
A candle flails in the corner, the only sound the ticking of a clock residing over the fire place
And from the room upstairs, the final cries of a man haunt these brick and mortar
Benjamin Wyatt

A woman, stern in face and posture, yet broken in heart stares vacantly into the abyss
Silent in her words, yet her mind contains a pain too powerfull to evoke
A widow soon she will be, death has his grip and is merciless in his quest
And still, from the chambers above
The final cries, of Benjamin Wyatt

Unwashed Curtains hang, partly open
A single pane of glass shields us from the rain
A man lay on a bed, the worldly hands of a mother wipes the brown hair of her baby
He's 27 years, but should he see 40, still he's her babe
A gasp, a cough, the relentless buzzing of a fly pings against the glass trying to escape outside into the warmth
Decay is especially savage when attached to the living
A shhhh, her tiny palms rest inside his, those same hands that cradled him on his first day
Her eyes close.and she remembers it well
A teardrop escapes her and falls onto his cheek
One final gasp, the last stand, silence

A mothers scream pierces Squires Row
Outside, back pressed against the green chamber door
A greying father lifts his head to the heavens
His old blue eyes drowning
Knees kiss the floorboards
He sighs
What a sight to see a grown man humbled

Benjamin Wyatt is silent