The thunder boomed and the rain poured. The darkness loomed the end of life's loving cord.
The old man walked alone shivering cold far from home. His feet like millstones every moment an aching throb. Every memory like piercing shards, every breath choking and toiled.
His life spent his youth wasted. A life lived unfulfilled a dream forgotten and long decayed
The love he had and the ones he held now far gone. The chances and opportunities that came his way, the mistakes and turns that led him to this wretched day.
What hope is there for him now? This old Man of sorrow what future lies ahead of his gray misery? This wretched relic of a long lost hope.
What will become of this man? what does fate have in store. Will he die slowly, wretchedly alone? Or will heaven in it's tender mercies take him quickly, and take him swiftly?
Will God in heaven forgive him for his wrongs? Or will he suffer in agony deep in eternity.
Will he ever repent? Forsake his selfish ambitions and return to the light? Or will he sink even further into the pit? For how can a man with no strength nor love With no hope nor anchor survive the tempest?
How can he prevail through the darkness? When his light has been snuffed out and his hope, all but gone. Like a ship with no rudder his life flickered in between the pale. Destruction has been his destination, from the beginning ruin his eternal hail. He squandered and toyed with the priceless gifts he had been given.
The number of opportunity's he had missed, out weighed by far the ones he made.
The love of others slowly became cold towards him, and slowly he began to fade. Little by little this old man of many sorrows sunk. Deeper and deeper into despair. He became dead inside a dead man walking.
A walking man without life his heart became hardened and his dreams faded to gray. His vision became blurred and now here he is on this fateful day.
And now here he is at the end of all things, at the finish line of his life. He is to be found alone and miserable. His years of neglect have at last caught up to him, His tempered words Fueled by the bottom of the bottomless bottle.
His foolish actions and careless tongue, some words had cut to deep some hurts never again to heal.
Deep in thought shivering cold. Wasted by ruin and rot life begins to release it's hold. The cold deepens, his heart slows.
The darkness thickness the reaper's eyes begin to glow. The old man takes his last breath of ragged air. Which for so long he had taken for granted. Which for so long he scorned upon and spat.
His time has now come his days are at an end, his life failing fast his pitifully few memories now useless.
For what good are memories? when they only remind you of the chances you could of taken. The hearts you could of known the love you could have shared. Now in the midst of the storm in the hour of his blackest darkness The rains came and the clouds covered the stars.
The light faded like a burn out flame it slowly whisked away. And the thick blanket of fear and uncertainty hovered close.
There upon his day of death he laid his wretched head upon the cold hard pillow. And sank deep into darkness and sank he did deep into everlasting despair And that is how the story goes The story of an old man filled with deep regret painful memory's and eternal burning sorrows
The old Man, who lived a life for himself. The old Man who lived alone, and who died alone. Thus ends the tale of the lonely Man of Sorrows.