Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Poetry Corner 3

Old Man

He is sitting by the windows, staring out towards the world
As it moves about without him and his memories take hold
While it gives him bitter pleasure to remember what he had
All the things that brought him joy now only serve to drive him mad

He remembers youth and beauty, he remembers his guitar
He remembers smiling faces as he sang about the stars
He gets lost in all his thoughts, windows reflect his empty stare
He remembers when he mattered, when the world would give a care

Memories tell him their stories of when he made love to her
Passion and her face were vivid, the rest of the room a blur
There they laid by his fireplace, fingers entwined in other’s hair
Her soft arms are now replaced with the hard ones upon his chair

On the mantel sits his clock, it ticks away on its gold base
Time then seemed so full of promise, now cobwebs cover its face
Life may start out different, unique to everyone their flame
At the end however, it will end for all the same

Idle days he spends alone, with such grim longing for the past
Thinks he now about his bones – how long they’ll take to turn to dust
And how long he will be mourned before forever he’s forgot
Slouching down on his cold chair, he thinks dead flesh is quick to rot

Sadness heavy on his eyelids, his eyes close for the last time
Yearning takes away his breath; the cobwebbed clock gives out a chime
With his name as his companion he is laid into the ground
As the living throw the soil, their silent tears don’t make a sound

(Inspired by Mount Wroclai)

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