UPON THE DEATH OF AN AMERICAN POET

UPON THE DEATH OF
AN AMERICAN POET

My breath
Stands still

Frozen

In the cold
January air

Of a new year

Reminiscing about
Better times
Better days

Facing another
Nazi delusion
From the grave

Monsters
Fascists &
Morons

Dead
In their own regime
Of decay

Their parades
Particularly
Stupid & violent

Racist &
Pathetic
With small
Malevolent
Minds

My breath
Stands still

Frozen

In the cold
January air

Where

I don’t
Recognize this
World anymore

These people

This place

And “These Kinds”
Of murdering, money
Shit no souls that exist
Where Americans

Are no longer real

Americans
To me

In this country
This world

That once held
Originality
Beauty &
Magic

And poetry

My breath
Stands still

Frozen

In the cold
January air

Of a New Year

Perhaps
The very last year

Of a place they
Once called

“Free”

~ R.M. Engelhardt
© January 6th, 2026