To many years walking loney
tough streets..
To many dead-end jobs
To many years of soul searching..
To many years of chasing schemes
and indefinable dreams had finally
taken their toll on the broken
Mr. Jones-
Penniless and hungry Mr. Jones buries
his hands deep in the tattered old coat
he fished from a back alley dumster-
This cold December morn would deliver
the final reckoning to a man whose life
was dogged by unfullfilled dreams and
squandered opportunities-
This Christmas morn would not bring the
warm laughter of hot chocolate and the
opening of presents-
Memories of wife and children gathered
around the Christmas tree in gleefull
chatter was drowned by the harsh reality
of aching bones and cold feet-
For Mr. Jones had arrived at his final
destination..a side street that would
witness his final will and testament
to a wasted life-
He dismissed the last illusive vestige
of hope from his soul and took his position
on the frozen concrete against a brick wall-
He lay there and waited for the brutal winter
chill to turn his empty life into a frozen
corspe-
Meet Mr. Jones..alone..and hearing only
one voice that could deliver to him his
last comforting word..the voice of despair
whispering to him.."Lie down, Mr. Jones,
Lie down and die..'