The drink tastes cold,
but the feeling is warm.
Encroaching walls of rubble draw near,
he knew they meant no harm.
Hands grazing the blades of grass,
he reaches for the glass cylinder he calls home,
only to find that its abandoned him too.
From beginning to end, this felt all too familiar.
The forever-sprinting runner he’s known as time has caught up,
no longer does his cradle support him.
No longer will he triumph over the trials of day and night,
he knows his final evening has arrived to bid him farewell.
Like a tattered flag on a windy day he struggles,
his aching joints grind and turn with every reluctant inch.
Gradually they come to a halt,
just as a train does at its last destination.
It all feels wrong now, too soon,
he fears that he can’t avoid it,
only to realize the inevitability of it all.
This makes him smile one last time.
Slowly he turns his head and lays down,
like he was taught when innocence ran through his veins.
Using the rock as his pillow he finds comfort,
yet solace evades him as a frigid blanket of blue air puts him to rest.