Drained (a poem)

He is drained

Of life

Apparent in his weakened stance

and his aimless gaze

in his leathery skin

and his swollen legs

He is drained

Of hope

apparent in his defeated face

and his reckless ways

in his unfazed thoughts

to his remaining days

He is drained

Of love

apparent in his lonesome days

his wandering feet

his children are bereft

of the joy to meet

such an old man

who is left helpless

in his second phase of childhood

who cares not

what is good

or bad

For he is already

dead

his heart

is drumming along to

an irregular beat

he still has some control

over his arms and

his feet

but what is a man,

an old man,

in the face of this

in this face of death

and passing on

and the pull

of being again with those

he has missed

of those

he can meet very soon

and the joy

of leaving behind

his shrunken state

and his dying state

his slowing state

his drained state