Final Dream

The gleam of sunlight on fresh fallen snow
conceals a lone broken syringe
at my frozen feet.
Ironic imagery, I think, for
seven years lost in alternating
pleasure and pain,
eventually numbness.
Even the bite of winter wind
fails to break through
and the blurring world becomes
A fantastic kaleidoscope of color
And light.
Across the park the old woman
feeds bits of burnt toast to the pigeons.
Death, albeit belated, has finally come
I think, for me, and I hope
I do not startle her in her daily
life giving ritual
as I sink into my final dream.

Note: This poem was inspired by Poets Who Blog who had a little challenge called "Jigsaw Poem" in which ten different words were offered up by ten different bloggers with the idea of constructing a poem around them. The words were gleam, lone, broken, syringe, seven, fantastic, toast, belated, snow and bite. Toast proved to be the hardest for me, and at the same time the most inspirational as the image of the old woman feeding pigeons gives a nice counterpoint to the junkies descent into darkness.