Poem
The Man
Walking down the street one day,
I passed by a man.
I noticed his once proud shoulders were now drooping.
His once joyful face, now looked gaunt.
And his eyes, once kind,
Were now haunted.
As we passed, our eyes locked.
The gaze shot through me like ice.
A sharp intake of breath, and was pulled.
Pulled into the depths of those blue and gold sunburst eyes.
Tumbling through the darkness, I saw a land of dispare.
Void of all life.
Both unimaginably cold, and unbearably hot.
Terrifyingly dark, yet unnaturally bright.
The man.
Laying prone, and still.
His body beaten and broken.
Bloodied and bruised.
He strained a breath.
Slowly, one hand trembled forward.
Grasping the earth, he pulled himself onward.
Inch by inch, hand by hand, he moved onward.
Once beautiful, thick, black hair,
Now dull, and mangy.
A once well cared for body,
Forsaken by the ravages of the world.
But then his eyes,
Beautiful blue and gold sunburst.
Devoid of all emotion,
Save for a blind drive not to give up.
Walking past, I tore my face away.
But i shed a tear.
A tear for the man who is not a man.
And his soul.
Unable to live,
Refusing to die.