Counterpoints, ten paces, dawn

Day Fourteen: Another self-appointed picture prompt.

photo by Tom Hoying

There's a blank stare across the field,
drilled deep and left as a cavity, black
pits or something else just as ominous.

She brought him here for a reason,
and as of yet he is still too afraid to ask,

what will signal the depth of her anger?

Their silence has remained vast, unbroken,
yards of quiet, empty space between them

and an ocean of usable air - it has become
a question of, who will take advantage first?
Now that the requisite number of paces

has been reached, and the fog has lifted
from the frozen, crunching grass beneath

their feet, whose gunshot will ring loudest?
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Quick Links, NaPoWriMo edition.

Zach - you killed it with this one, my friend.

An amusing noun-switch poem from Leonard.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Two Door Cinema Club, Something Good Can Work