Always fighting,
From the inside,
Breaking the walls,
Of his former pride,

The scattered remains,
Washed by the rain,
Fading all hope,
Of easing his pain,

Searching the puddles,
Through autummal leaves,
Scratching the floor,
For broken beliefs,

Brushing the grain,
From trembling hand,
Mixed with dirt,
And goldless sand,

He crawls away..

Leaving his dignity,
And all that he gained,
In the gutterless hole,
For a moment of fame.

a blanket of dust
unfathomable casket
a goldless journey

Jean C Bertrand

Look out across at the standing masses, see.
Stagnant twinkled smiles, goldless false shine.
Homeless standing upon wastelands.
Playing games, wasting time with this and that as it were.
While here from atop mountains.
This here is for the real time walkers.
Walking forward with shadows abreast and fires astern.
Here is the den where lions lie.
Here be dragons