Pink ribbons fade into Grey at the sight of an old man;
They slither on the breath of the wind,
Tapped on by subtle drops of rain,
Shriveling and cold.
They slowly begin to unravel from the pointed tips to the soft inner core;
Ragged strings float down onto the earth's surface,
Laying quietly.
Only waiting to be stepped on by muddy, yellow, rain boots.
An old man sits on the bench,
His back curling into itself,
A fish hook image of sharp uncomfortable pain.
His face holds pictures of trenches and craters;
His cane leaning slightly at his side,
His only companion.
Each breath like forcing air out of a pinhole in a balloon.
His hands quiver with each blink
His eyes becoming heavier with each gasping breath.
He has known a life
Lived a life
Saved a life
Taken a life
Witnessed life
Broken a life
Yet in the end he will have no life.
With one last breath his life will end, and be forgotten.
With one last blink he will no longer see the life in front of him
An old man dies in a park
A pink ribbon fades into mud
A life of worth dissipates into nothingness.