July 5, 2004

The dying man's dreams die with him
His life drains away like the ebbing of the tide
His voice fades to but an echo of a distant whisper
His breathe wanes like the midnight lights
The sparkling luster of his eyes turn to somber grey
And brilliant glow of his skin disappears
As the hood of the reaper hides him away
He is now just the cold embers of a doused flame
The failing twinkle of an ageing star