And Now, it Has Come to This...

Like a young Hemingway you were larger than life, robust, cocky -the quintessential adventurer. Throwing caution to the wind you sucked life to the marrow extracting the juice, both the sweetness and bitterness drawing nourishment making of it sheer vibrance... And your passions, always fiery soared dizzied pinnacles only to plunge. You were pure intensity- a comet, brilliant and illuminating, champion of causes where there was struggle, controversy you dove right in- always, always you did everything with heart. Still, as even a comet's spectacle is only a flash so you've grown old and ill, feebled your plainess is a caricature to the once beauty your ruin too sharp a contrast against those former great heights... And now alone, you spend your remaining days reading and writing remembering the last of your energy exerted on this, your " message" - something for your readers to empower and shield them from what became your own fall... It is your only hope- that your words hold magic and that by accomplishing such- (magic) even your pain is made worthwhile.