The house, dark and cold,
filled with an emptiness,
the smell of loneliness and desperation
dripping on the long forgotten furniture.
A termite, looking to find substanance
in the dead leg of a creaking chair.
The breeze blows in, trying to whipe away
the sorrow, hanging in the air like a thick mist.
Movement makes a hollow sound on an once fine
carpet, but falls on a dead ear. Painted, with
claret, the wall makes a grotesque painting, of
struggling, and suffering. The twitching eyes,
recognize, but does not understand. Timmy, once loved
doing an evil dead. Why? Why this?
The sun rise, and a beam breaks through the
darkness, illuminating the truth. Morning freshness
splashes into the room, and reveal the secret of
it all. For there in the corner he sits. As black as death, eyes
glowing like an eternal fire. Enjoying the heat of the illumination,
he looks content and happy. Clutching his prize, ready to
devour the flesh, he sets about his task. He must hasten,
for the master is almost home.
Finished, he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. Trusting
instincts, the window beckons, and in a flash of black, he is out.
Running free, on the grass, to his favourite spot.
A moment in time, for Timmy the cat.
edit on 1-3-2011 by VreemdeVlieendeVoorwep because: spelling