The flag of defeat

Drooping shoulders, with a limp he dragged himself. Burden with a bagful of past sorrows, on him he had the flag of defeat flown dejectedly. Evident it was from his face, of the sorrows that were drowned in the facade that adore a thousand fake smiles. As he slowly steps towards the sea, with the falling eyes he stares at the sea. The sun be red, losing it's glory to the dark, so be his life done. For his prime be gone, and he is left with neither a hope not a remorse, raises his hand up in the air to cry out for the Lord - "Let this crumbled up be taken to the heavenly abode, for tomorrow be yet another day for thee but not for me."