Steven Storrie- A Poem

NEBRASKA ROADS
 
Her eyes were weeping like wounds
Cast in another direction
Away from me
Her mouth was closed and calm
A silent gun turret
That had spent all its shells
Those hands, soft and trembling
Were balled in calloused fists
Of empty rage
And her arms
The ones that once held me
Were like paper blotched with ink

There were mountains between us now

Distance growing as long as the Nebraska roads
Storm clouds gathered above us
Like pillows employed to block out the light
Our hearts had cracked liked vases
The truth like a baseball to glass doors
There would be no-one to pick up the
Pieces
Of this latest thing I'd done.
  
BIO; Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this he is currently locked in his basement working on his first collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. You can find him at the website he runs, 'Black Coffee For Breakfast', at http://renegadepriest11.wix.com/blackcoffeebreakfast