For the man who used to be something other than he is now.

The discreet shell of a former self
posed, slumped in a chair
pounds shed
stubble abound
but still the same shiny head.

The dragged marks and lines
a face that aged centuries in months
rehabilitation that there's no cooperating with.

Once,
the room lit up
insults were hurled and cups drained of their contents
as local and family fame built up
a mythical figure.

This man can't be the same!
A mass of irrational concern
and fear of daily events
the spectacle of what may occur
too much to overcome?

What's been said and what's been done:
for the past to lay dormant
for discourses to be rectified
unreal self-imposed expectations
too much to overcome.

But there's still that shiny head
a lamp of hope that sparkles in
a dimly lit room.