Final Chapter
there's a small fire burning
in the corner of a room
he had not seen
for some time...
the kaleidoscope of tiny breaths'
each one personal and real;
like tiny sparks with names
long forgotten....
the heart is a kingdom
of it's own making and design;
full of the precious now lost
in the howl of the night.
and he stands on the precipice,
angry, tired, bitter....
without choice, without meaning...
and no reason to be.
let there be peace somewhere.
let there be living...
let there be truth, honor, and dignity...
let there be hope.
he closes the door,
and walks to meet an angry God.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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