Some people are of God,
The thinning of their sole, torn shoes and worn clothes tell the tale only hearts of God hear. How blessed, for their treasure lies within, no fear of loss, no fear of pain because the glacier of faith they carry within is too magnificent to be beautified, yet too fearsome to let any fear linger around the edges.
Everyone of us is a keeper of that glacier. It's only, that the burns sometimes melt the forted edges of  iceberg of faith. But the keeper knows exactly when it happens, and when it can happen. And do we not sometimes melt and do we not always gather our blistering crystals, do we not bear the burns on our palms and yet we stand strongest after the burning waves of fate pass on? It melts, it smoothes, it shapes and after all the carvings in the keeper's castle, makes him even more majestic.

My strength trickles in drops from forted edges of my majestic iceberg
So I shrug off and veil my soul with cloak of coldness till coldness pervades and freezes my shattered crystal drops till each one of it becomes part of my whole again.

A reading of this poem is here: https://youtu.be/pAIgogKxcNA?list=PLBxuQsDqWVXmIytZbwojqP6VwFcC5xeZ

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He died that night.  His chin a mesh of wet, broken asphalt, blood and glistening white flesh.

What did you want?
A quirky dialogue, a dose of fiction and science,

a ******* poem

Jesus!  I said it glistened, didn’t I?

Damply reflecting his solitary and meaningless life that he had built up to be something more
something wonderfully significant

This must be a pathetic assault on the indignity of the world
It’s lack of acceptance for
My total loneliness

among the pattering drops and the dosed lights
hazing and incomprehensible
forted, feigning, but there

A physical barrier that pretends to be.
That’s kind of like the guy.  How convenient!  Are you following?

The lights were the last thing he probably saw.

but there in the peaceful death did he gasp one last word?

A cliche.  Is that better?  
An improvement upon self-referring, concept refraining, phrase

like a sustaining note struck by a hammer
struck by a white key
struck by bone and flesh
a resonation resigning to a precious exit, honoring the one thing he valued?
Are we getting somewhere now?  Did the alliterative foiled words help to unwrap the meaning of this poor ***** last breath?

No.
But I recall a gurgle followed by a splurch of blood and his eyes so fiercely clenched
cowardly denying the wet
moment as
he died that night

And I meant to leave the ****** apostrophe out
This is art

@Macbigicekeys

Smoke rings ring my Father's song
Like floating stanza's
Of years now gone
With forted form
They levitate
Then slowly
Mistily
Dissipate