The battle’s done.
the words are spoken,
body tired,
spirit broken.

Thus, I walk,
a flickering flame
that has no name,

a whirling windstorm
that will not
pass this way again.

The fire dims
then expires.
The flesh falters
and there is
no more desire,

and all I was
is left distorted,
passing friendly memories,
into whispers,
then written vagaries,
and on into nothing.

In time I die
a thousand plus
tiny deaths
long after
my final breath,

but whatever
comes after this
I hope the world
was at least
a little bit better
cause I existed.