hero of war

A blossoming legend, now rotting under a dirty rag, soaked in urine and the streets, you lay there, silently weeping. All alone. The bitterness stings at heart, sending a cold shiver down the soul, your empty eyes scan the lively street with despair. You are helpless. Like a child. You were a wolf, fearless and overflowing with pride, now you are like a stray dog, lost in the streets, begging for food. Shameful. The good intentions of spiteful strangers land in a form of a coin, like bombs- they will cause distraction. Those tiny golden coins remind you of your navy jacket dipped in honor medals, which you gave away for a crateful of death in the form of murky liquid. As if you are a rotten tree, roots long eaten by the greedy society, you are falling apart; charcoal silk that grew on your head had long turned ash gray. Those cubs that you fought for now look down at you, at your handicapped self in pure disgust, and now you dissolve in the pavement and wonder. When it all went wrong.