He puts the bottle down on the wooden table,
It is silent.
He stares at the wall for one long moment.
His eyes are a fixed on a picture hanging on the tan walls.

The fire roars,
It is silent.
The man remains,
Eyes fixed on the photo.
A husband and wife,
A little girl.

The phone rings,
It is silent.
The world of this man is focused upon the colors of the picture.
He tries to take it apart with his eyes,
He examines the photo piece by piece.

The drawer opens,
It is silent.
The man figures through the desk.
His eyes remain fixed on the photo,
His hand searches,
searches for an answer.

He finds what he was looking for.

The drawer closes,
It is silent.
He lays the gun on his laps,
eyes still fixed on the picture.
He unloads the clip and places the bullet in his gun.

The gun is loaded,
It is silent.
The man rises from his seat,
He walks slowly towards the picture.
He raises the gun to his head,
The bullet is loaded, the trigger is cocked.

The trigger is pulled.

In one instance,
a life was seen,
a life was heard,
sound reached his deaf ears.

He had pulled the trigger,
yet the bullet remained in the gun.

The bullet never lies...

I liked the poem. I was excellent but I have a question. I don't want to sound like a retard but if he pulled the trigger than wouldn't he have died? He died didn't he? I am sorry if I sound stupid but I am just trying to get this.