"What is it, to live?" asks the old man,
a man who has become meek and feeble from the wear and tear of life.
Bitter to the bone after years of self deprivation and ridicule,
the man looks to his wrinkles and asks to himself, whole heartily, simply, "life?"
These fine lines and pieces of sagging flesh are not the result of age,
but the compilation of recurring incidents and "mishaps".
Each of which have left him with a further general apprehension and disdain than before.
Each taking away from, while simultaneously adding to, that which we call life.
He has seen people take, but not give.
Been witness to countless wars.
This man has said "goodbye" to wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and all those in between.
Time and again, the man has said "goodbye."
But never "hello."
"The fire of devotion was only an ember."