Broken Runner

I tumbled into a frightening dream:
My frantic feet flashing fire on the run.
My musical voice pitched in frantic scream,
In silent halls pierced by bursts from a gun.
Each door that I tried was securely locked.
The tile floor was littered and slippery.
The door to the cafeteria, blocked
With chairs and tables piled higher than me.
On, onward I ran toward the outside doors,
Where through dirty glass I saw flashing light,
That reflected on the polished tile floors...
My chest bursting open was my last sight.

I hovered, crying, and watched a long while,
The broken child body on blood-smeared tile.

Mick McKellar
June 2018

Sometimes, I wonder if my dreams are gifts or a challenge. I felt every bit of the unreasoning fear that seared through the mind of that innocent child. Running in terror and loneliness, a slim hope, and unspeakable pain...somehow, thoughts and prayers are not enough.

Mick