His most valuable years had long since past into the deep grey of his memory. Old age had taken him, and it was no surprise how he had turned out. Many forgotten years earlier, in this poor disheveled mans rich and golden prime, he was top in his field. Many ideas flowed through him and out onto the open pages of college textbooks. Ideas that now sat still, stagnating, growing dark, in his fading mind.  The old man was once a strong stallion brought down by age, waiting to die in the ever darkening fields of his youth. No longer did they ask his opinion, no longer did he care to share his wondrous ideas with the next generation. His once warm and caring heart was now in ruins, blackened by the thick tar of pain. The man's future was heavily veiled in profound uncertainty. He had lost, trumped by the ever searing hand of fate, left to die among the trash and filth that had befallen him. No one was left to remember him, no one was left to care, and so he sank ever downwards into the scorching sands. Time had killed another king.