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Rated: E · Poetry · Adult · #2003158
In a field of plenty a madman comes to end it all, in time he is stopped by God above

-Alone Is The Flower-
by Keaton Foster

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Alone is the flower
In its darkest hour
All around a fire stirs
An inferno unabated
Nothing combustionable
In this place will be wasted
Flames kicked up by wind
Turn into a vortex of ends
Nothing within its path
Stands any reasonable chance
Death and destruction has come
And all of this
Was started by a madman
One with a well-defined purpose
He wishes to kill everything
Made of true beauty
He wishes to end the world
Starting right here in this field
In the middle of nowhere special
Way beyond the edge
Of the vastness of this place
He, the madman now stands
Flame and fuel in his hands
An evil grim cracks his lips
A sense of I did all of this
Floods his callous heart
His mind races over what’s next
The smoke rises for miles
True darkness
In the depths of dawn
Descends
The air is hot and thick
Brutalizing meat and flesh
Boiling liquid both in and out
Creatures flee for life
Most die right where they fall
If the smoke has not killed them
Then the flames quickly do
Some scream out in horror
Fewer and fewer are heard
And before long
Alone is the flower
In the middle of the field
In every possible direction
Is nothing but scorched earth
And the ashes of all
That once survived here
Closer the flames now creep
There is less fuel to burn
Less wind to drive the vaporization
Of sticks, leafs, grass, and trees
Until finally a circle is formed
Around the flower untouched
The last beautiful thing
In every identifiable bearing
Before the flames act
Before everything is killed
God so far above steps in
First he cracks the sky
With thunder so loud
That it breaks the spine
Of the man with fuel and flame
And a twisted obsession
To lay everything to waste
He falls to the ground
Spilling his fuel
Dropping his flame
Instantly he become ignitable
Instantly he becomes a victim
Dare it be said
Deserving of what’s coming next
God again shows his power
He sends a volley of lightning
Down from the heavens above
A half a dozen bolts hit the man
He stands no chance
From the inside out
His blood boils, his mind explodes
His deepest innards boil away
He will never rise again
Upon the wind his ashes
And his madness will be sent
Just as the flames creek closer
To the lone flower
God unleashes his tears
Sheets of rain begin to fall
In endless waves
Saturating the ground
Quickly dousing every flame
Nothing has been saved
But the most beautiful flower
In many profound ways
It needed to be saved most
In time all that was left dead
Is again reborn
The scorched fields will again grow
Nature does indeed return in full regard
Then just as God above
Must have meant
Alone is the flower
No more…


Alone Is The Flower
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.

© Copyright 2014 Keaton Foster: Know My Hell! (keatonfoster at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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