The flames of all his heated passion
that at one time raged out of control
burning hotter than the fiery depths of
hell and higher than any fire that has
ever burned before that had once spilled
from his pen which was now laying on the
cluttered desk is now just barely leftover
embers in the cold ashes of what was
his life, and the deep, what had seemed
never-ending well that he pulled all
of his beautiful words from went from
what was a mighty river that was raging
making its own path cutting down just
about anything that stood in its way of
change washing away all the tears of
of hate and cries of social injustice
crashing down on years of depression,
and religious oppression wiping out all
of the cold and bitter darkness while
leaving only peace, love, and an
understanding in its wake is now just a barely
a trickle slowly streaming down the dirty
gutter that was built of self regret and deep
sorrow leaving it to fall and gather into a
stagnated pool filled with the stench
of guilt and eternal damnation as his ink
is running dry while all of the pages of
his life past and present where he would
sit and write down his every single
feelings and all of his emotions have
been ripped up torn apart and shredded
into little pieces then discarded into
a pile of trash where it lay there left
to rot away turning to dust and blown
away being carried up into the howling
winds of change and fate where it is
being dispersed amongst the earth and
skies never to be seen or heard from
again just as he lays there with nary a
breath waiting for his old friend death
in a bed that he had made of his own,
all alone with not a single soul around
listening to the faded echoes coming
off the walls of leftover laughter that
were coming from the shadows that
were being cast upon the wall by the
now dying fire with the constant sound
of a drip drip drip drip drip from the
many teardrops of a deep down
sadness falling that were all filled with
tiny fragments of his lost and broken
hopes and dreams, just as the last
of his blood that was being pumped
through a very broken heart missing so
many pieces as it started slowly
skipping every other beat, abandoned
and forgotten about by all of those he
loved and whom he had thought at least
at some point loved him too, and even
though the clock that was hanging on
his wall had stopped working with its
arms straight up showing that it was
one minute until the midnight bells
would sound, but in his mind, he knew
that it was much later than that, as he
had lived way past all of his time that
God had allowed him and as the very
last grain of sand was falling from his
hourglass time itself continued moving
forward not ever caring about who or
what was dying as it never mourns the
loss of anything or anyone at all, as the
days of his life were now over knowing
that he had not days or weeks or even
hours for that matter, but maybe minutes
even seconds at the very moment the
very last petal from a beautiful flower he
had been holding on too which had come
from his garden feel hitting the floor, as
a soft quiet sound of a pitter-patter could
be heard throughout the room just as a
cool spring shower started a soft warm
rain begin to fall almost as if all the
heavens above were crying, a gentle
breeze began to blow carrying with it
the faint sounds of angels singing as
they were welcoming his tired worn soul
back home, meanwhile just outside the
window he spent hours upon hours staring
out of pushing up through the ground
was a seedling from a mighty oak tree
that has not been seen in this area for
over a hundred and fifty one years was
now breaking free of all the chains
that once had bound it, free from the
rock and dirt that had been surrounding
it finally bursting out free into the wind and
rain taking its first breath of air just as
the rising sun started rising as the clouds
parted for just a few moments letting a
single ray of warmth and light filter down
to the ground below shining on the new
life as he drew his last breath at the exact
same moment in time a ying for yang or
rather one life ending while new one starts
the way of life on this planet for who really
knows how long.

Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.
A Poet's Journey
A Texas Poet Laureate
Nominee 2016-2020


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