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 your 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 plainness 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 has become your own
fall...
It is your only hope-
that your words hold magic-
and that by accomplishing such,
even your pain is made
worthwhile.