He was felled by his demons
Now his eyes lay vacant
Vandalized, lost to the ravages
Of times passed
As weeds grow up his sallow face
And graffiti lines his drooping body
Oh light! Would that I ask you to
Return to such a sorry man
On the wings of hope
So that this poor lifeless creature
Lingering on the edges of the present,
Dwelling in the darkness of death,
Writhing within the fires of his own making,
Might find a home again within your
Warm embrace…
Pity his soul, as he slowly falls away
From understanding