The dying man is known to be wise
Yet still no logic for his crying son
He beholds the Abyss with anger
Frustration with himself
Many talents known but not used
Instead a pursuit of things
These things provide no relief
He finds no comfort in his house
No sweet contentment in his car
He shuns these thoughts from his mind
Focusing on the Abyss
He sees a dark winter night
He smells rain soaked asphalt
He tastes copper pennies
He hears wind blowing through a valley
He feels an icy sting seize his heart
All this happens at once
In the last moments of dying
He feels a rush of unbridled life
Time well wasted comes to an end