The Old Man

His soul yet stands still
at the dejected earth, he stood
it endured his prosaic past
that only twinged at the sight of remembering

he stood staring through the hollowness that filled life
and the devotions that have driven destiny forward
to how death shall overcome..

He awaited imaptiently
as his tears seemed to dwell-
brushing tenderly agains the half-mended wounds
turning the stitches open of remembering-
the fragile look on life's face-
offering him the paths he chose
of dreams that he held-
as he travelled across the aching snow that lay white and pale
strewing the agony that his soul beared
and the faint desire of faith that seemed to taint his heart

As the paths stressed on him to endure-
the shuddering spasms of grief that were fragmented behind
from the mind battles he led-
and the hope of elaborating-
the illed sentiments that were left a riddle unsolved
he was weakened and frail
for his weary eyes focused bleak at the irony of life
and griefly looked away-
silenced by fear

The old man is no longer too cold for tears
he stares right through the radiant ailed skies
and weeps like a child deprived
a smile is anchored through his wrinkled face-
that the rotting time left carvedyet he stands-
for it seemed life's frequent pace had paused
spreading the diseased memories-
allowing this heart to collapse

as the old man fights his last battles to survive-
his bewildered soul had lost
the rhythms impeded
and it majestically overcame...



April, 08