Recognition

Man's body weak and drained
His mind does slowly decay.

Each breath he breathes
Auspiciously leaves.

For time passes him by
Though he fails to believe.

A life he lives
No love he gives.

His times are hard
He makes them this way.

Man does have the power
To create beauty of a flower.

To see the sun rise
Is yet his prize.

But, he stills sits back
While his soul slowly dies.

The austerity and blameless purity of life
Remains obscure within dreams of his mind.

- Blanche McLanahan