May 2024
Wayne Hebb
whebb2014@gmail.com
Bio Note: I am a retired RCMP officer living in St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador with my wife of 47 years. I enjoy writing and have been putting pen to paper for many years. Retirement has given me more time to spend on this hobby. I write fiction, non-fiction and poetry.

Not Your Time

The sea roared below him
Waves licking high on the rocks
The misty fog surrounded the
Solitary figure as he stood on
A small ledge of shale 
Straining with the weight
Leaning over to see the 
Crashing sea beneath him
The man tensed and jumped
At the same time a powerful
Gust of wind struck him
Knocking him into the wall of
Stone, shaking gravel around him
As he slid to a stop on a tiny crag 
He grabbed, scraping his fingernails
To grip anything just to hold on
To break his fall from his intended
Death, suddenly wanting to live

Not Much to a Life

The old man sat dejected in
His favorite chair
His grey hair disheveled 
His face scruffy with stubble
Eyes both sad and angry
Then he spoke in a low voice
Not much to a life, is there
He said nothing more 
The hot tears filled the brim of
His eyelids as he maintained
Eye contact with me
Three days ago, he had been
Diagnosed with cancer
Death was on its way
Now, in his comfortable home
Looking at me wanting
Some comfort but I was
Empty, for I could not
Offer a rebuttal 
I just returned his stare
Holding it like a man holding
A newborn baby 
The phone rang
Breaking the moment and
Opening the door for my
Departure

©2024 Wayne Hebb
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL