The Struggle Poem by Patrick Villareal

Wandering aimlessly through the empty and dead plains he haggardly moves on
Wiped out and beaten by fate, he can't help but feel withdrawn
His constant and difficult struggle has left him bitter and alone
A feeling he never thought would call his dissolved heart home
The cold breeze gently moves along his skin as the darkened clouds settle in
Halting his endless wander for just a moment, he looks down, lowering his grayish chin
with a grave look upon his ageing face, he stares into nothing
As water begins dropping from the sky, he listens to his heart thumping
Listens and wonders while the rain pelts his battered face
Contemplating his worth and what he has become, it is difficult to embrace
weeping, he starts off once more
to eventually become only a dimming memory...not to be discussed anymore...