Is anyone home?
This is from my Epic Poem called The Battle Lost: Ryder's Birth it has hit number one in twelve times in seven different Kindle categories and it is free to download at Amazon.
My first book... Exactly five years ago..
Is Anyone Home
The masses are dying
millions are dead while
thousands lay wounded
lost in their head,
This evil has grown so steady
and fast
it's a black hazy fog that is
consuming
our great past,
For every survivor the twelve steps
have returned thousands of
innocence are easily turned,
The generals of hell have no
given name while they all sit around
enjoying the game, They gamble
their minions who are pushing
their wares each loaded with
crystal and black sticky hairs,
The creator of good and his son
in the past have pulled back
it's armies in hopes that they can last,
while its victories of hope are
a thing of great lore all the miracles
of hope is a dream no more,
The son of the king has fallen and fled
with humanities last hope he lay
bleeding and dead,
The creator of mankind is now
all alone while the last
of his followers can’t find him at home,
He sits high above with His
head in His hands
trembling in fear over the
destruction of man,
Addiction: the evil of darkness unknown
has now flooded the land and
every home, the survivors of war are
weary with scorn while hope is still
waiting for babies yet born.
Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.
A #Poets Journey
Texas Poet Laureate Nominee 2016-2020
My first book... Exactly five years ago..
Is Anyone Home
The masses are dying
millions are dead while
thousands lay wounded
lost in their head,
This evil has grown so steady
and fast
it's a black hazy fog that is
consuming
our great past,
For every survivor the twelve steps
have returned thousands of
innocence are easily turned,
The generals of hell have no
given name while they all sit around
enjoying the game, They gamble
their minions who are pushing
their wares each loaded with
crystal and black sticky hairs,
The creator of good and his son
in the past have pulled back
it's armies in hopes that they can last,
while its victories of hope are
a thing of great lore all the miracles
of hope is a dream no more,
The son of the king has fallen and fled
with humanities last hope he lay
bleeding and dead,
The creator of mankind is now
all alone while the last
of his followers can’t find him at home,
He sits high above with His
head in His hands
trembling in fear over the
destruction of man,
Addiction: the evil of darkness unknown
has now flooded the land and
every home, the survivors of war are
weary with scorn while hope is still
waiting for babies yet born.
Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.
A #Poets Journey
Texas Poet Laureate Nominee 2016-2020
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