Zero Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Many a men,
Bold
Too great,
Too inadequate
Or just
Mediocre
Share the same fate
On the streets.

Moseying towards
Establishments
At dawn
And retching about
The pavements
At dusk.

Impaled to mad penchants
Of
Women,
Religion,
Saintly things and
Even sinful ones.

But then, like
The stars,
We twinkle ephemerally…

And die, darkle
On by one
Beside bashful inamoratas,
Religion and etcetera.

Death, life – either or,
They pilfer everything,
And immutably,
This fate is engraved upon our souls:

We never really gain anything
In this but death
As our bones rattle
In oblivion.