I hear the screeching of the tires,
The shattering of the glass,
The crunching of the steel
The clanging, the ripping of, the metal,
The scream and the silence,
The quiet stillness in the aftermath.
Then the sirens blare,
And the police arrive
Followed by the paramedics.
I wake up from the dream,
My mind and body shaking
Wondering if it is a premonition.
I pass it off, just a nightmare,
And forget about it after that.
A week later my future wife
Dies in a fatal car accident.
And I die inside every day.
And I hope to hell I never have
Another dream like that again.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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