The Jolly Roger laughs at him, chuckling
an insult to a passing hawk; whose golden
eyes twinkle in merriment and anticipation.
He's a success, at least in their inhuman eyes;
if only for his failure. An object of derision
to be hauled before the court of public amusement;
an unwilling jester in the castle of ridicule.
Him? Why should he care?
He's just a broken lamp with a flickering flame;
soon to be food for maggots.
Reconciled to his fate, he expires smiling;
content that some small achievement has justified
If only in the hungry bellies of insects.