was widening to a brighter dawn
the man struck out upon the vast hinterland of the soul
in search of gold of comfort of some intangible creation
giving import to the work of his days
he believed he had discovered such a fate only to find the Creator
had confiscated his gift angry it had been discovered so artlessly
and with such economy of expression by the man who was also a poet
he was condemned to death but the hour was not appointed
so he waited crouching in the shadowlands like us all
the sacrament of extremunction was not availed him
and he wandered alone on the panhandle of this earth
until his heart wound down like a clock
and ceased its wondering
Flynnpoetry 