i am tired.
the gray in the lining
of my soul is see-through.
my love is withered and
unresponsive.
no petals in my chamber
for my chamber is a street.
i am hungry and cold.
the fire in my spirit has
smothered its last spark.
the matches of life have
been stolen by proposals
regulations and copper pipes.
my feet no longer carry
dignity and strength.
my arms no longer capture
me at my disgrace.
i am numberless in the
bar code of the beast.
words less spoken 
But then you turn your sorrow into poetry, my dear colega poeta
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Obrigado, Poeta. Just an observation of so many of our homeless vets in the skid row part of town. The resiliency of the human spirit inspires awe, but a broken spirit is overwhelming to me.
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