Title: Fallout
Summary: Post Countdown
Author's Note: I guess this classifies as free-verse poetry, though it has some structure. I tend to rebel from traditional rhymes and meters when I can. ;) The thoughts just seems to flow this way. Also, please forgive the formatting. You'd think after how many years on this site I would have figured out how to do this by now. for some reason I can't get the stanzas to separate.
Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Easton and the fine folks at USA Networks.
Fallout
The euphoric rush of a con gone right
Nearly lifts his feet from the ground-
It always does.
But the heavy-handed voice of truth
Shatters the illusion of success and
He crashes down.
Brown eyes which a moment ago
Held relief and boundless love for her
Now burn at him.
Their threat remains unspoken,
Though it is mixed with something else
He can't define.
A step is taken towards him, he cringes
Though he knows he deserves the pain.
It was his fault.
His eyes close, masking fear and sadness
At the loss of the new life he loved
That he betrayed.
But the blow doesn't come, so he looks
At the man who has every right to hate him
He is smiling.
The indefinable finds meaning now
As he is drawn into a tight embrace
"Thank you."