Magic dreams
that once fueled his very being,
had decayed into infectious nightmares—
Leaving him to loathe the coming of each dawn;
Jaundiced eyes
peered from skeletal sockets
reflecting fear of not the inevitable death,
but the agony of yet another day of survival;
The frail back
with its symbolic stoop,
seemed to have long prepared the body
for the daily scavenge of the garbage bend:
Pity, even a dying man must eat.