The Old Man and the Night

There they smile - the sighs of bygone days from the distant skies,

Wandering far beyond the clouds, racing towards  sunrise,

Igniting the sleeping world in scattered fragments of starlit dreams.

Lulled to rest, he sighs on his lonely bed, squinting into the moonbeams.

Images rise, in the ever-young mind, of a youth, long gone by,

Green-decked days over the crashing sprays dawn upon his waking eyes.

Whimpering waves ripple through the frolicsome night breeze,

As, with bated  breath, he gazes, once more, into the dark abyss.

Far below, the moaning waves break into long-forgotten songs,

And the silence echoes with the stifled sobs of murdered bygones.

The young morning bares her fangs, she rips the skies apart,

As a darkening dawn closes in on the wingless bird.

He sees the exiled night shed off his twilight-tainted crown - 

The battlefield resonates with the curses of the drowned.

He gazes on the sun-washed countryside, bathed today in gore,

And, in faltering steps, creeps back to his hole, and, in silence, bolts the door.

The fire's died out, the embers linger in the abandoned fireplace,

But, the withered light grows supple again, with youthful lissomeness.

Roses bloom today, in secret splendour, in the shadows of the wild,

The deserted playroom smiles, once more, in the glee of a child.

He walks, grey-haired, yet dreamy-eyed in the stardust-magic of twilight,

Through the fading day, that gathers grey, slipping off into the deepening night.

In his ambrosia-scented slumber, far from a world in war,

The departed smiles from his cradle - a new-born amidst the stars. 

Reviews

[Najam Us Saher]

The scenery you have created and the words you chose are splendid. Every stanza describes the environment and feelings of the old man very well.
I am struggling for words to appreciate the beauty of your words and the depth they have.
It was a pleasure reading this.

[Esther]

Thanks a lot!

[Najam Us Saher]

It was a pleasure reading this.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Your title is captivating. It is a powerful tug that says read me.
...Whimpering waves ripple through the frolicsome night breeze,...
Your delightful poem is full of gentle images that flow one into the other.

[Esther]

Thank you so much!

[Meghan Renee]

There's this sense of lull-like daze you get while reading that really sets the tone. Each word, line, stanza; they all drift seamlessly together. It's beautiful, is what I'm trying to say. Absolutely beautiful.

[Esther]

So glad it touched you!

[Paul Bell]

The journey of a man who survived, but still lives the life of the fallen.
How we salute those people who did so much for us and still do.

[Esther]

Thanks for the review!

[Verse]

This is splendorous, a true tour de force of a story poem. The horrors of war shown from at least four perspectives, not including the cradle. Word choices and imagery beyond the pale. But what I really enjoyed was the rhyme, the strong sense of rhythm ending in resonant near-rhymes with elegant punch to them.

Example
He gazes on the sun-washed countryside, bathed today in gore,
And, in faltering steps, creeps back to his hole, and, in silence, bolts the door.

Your write is a breath of life to poetic writing. Don't ever stop reaching for the best word, the elegant turn, Esther. These are gifts to oneself and to an ever-appreciative reader.

V

[Esther]

Thank you so much!

[Verse]

You're most welcome.

[richieb]

Ester,
I read your poem with my mouth wide open. My mind raced trying to capture all the imagery. There is a seasoned maturity in your writing. It carries a strong character as if it had broad shoulders stood for no nonsense. I truly enjoyed your poem and will return to read it again.
Blessings,
Richie b.

[Esther]

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it!

[Shawn Fukuda]

Reminds me of:
To A Young Lady, Reproached for Taking Long Walks in the Country (his sister, if I recall)
by William Wordsworth, Circa 1800

Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!
-- There is a nest in a green dale,
A harbor and a hold;
Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see
Thy own heart-stirring days, and be
A light to young and old.

There, healthy as a shepherd-boy,
And treading among flowers of joy
Which at no season fade,
Thou, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt show us how divine a thing
A Woman may be made.

Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.

[Esther]

Thank you so much!
I've never read the quoted poem before. It's beautiful

[Elli]

Complex and thoughtful words, I can't entirely understand why you've chosen some of the words you have, It's your choice of course weather you want the reader to easily understand your poem or try to figure out why you've chosen the words you have. These words probably are very personal and meaningful to you, And that's very beautiful.

[Esther]

Thanks a lot!

[JayG]

• There they smile from their places far away, in the silent skies,

What is this to mean to a reader? You have intent for who “they” are. But given that the reader, at this point, doesn’t know who “they” are, what “they: are, or why they’re smiling, these are just words to be remembered in case they make sense later.

• Igniting the sleeping world in scattered fragments of starlit dreams.

So these unknown smiling somethings are setting fire to the world? Uhhh…I’m a bit confused. And the fire is set by “starlit dreams,” which are, uhh…

• Lulled to rest, he sighs on his lonely bed, squinting into the moonbeams.

Lulled to rest by what? Fragments of dreams, or the fire? And weren’t we just talking about something or other flying beyond the clouds? Where did they go? And who is this mysterious “he?” And why is he squinting at the moon while lying in a bed? Did his roof ignite and burn away? Truly, I am lost.

• Images rise, in the ever-young mind, of a youth, long gone by,

Here, five lines in, you provide a hint as to who “he” is, but not what the flying things are or why their mood is happy. And given that you cannot retroactively remove confusion, or provide a second first impression, you might want to think about opening with a contxt provider like this.

You’re so tightly focused on poetic language and vivid imagery that you’ve lost sight of the fact that the reader has no context for your setting, backstory, your participants, or, the motivation for any of these unknown beings to act.

It appears that you’re well over the edge and into purple prose with things like: “Whimpering waves.” Seriously. Have you heard the surf? Have you been on a stormy sea? I’ve heard crashing…hissing…rolling…roaring…even whispering sea sounds. But I’ve never heard a wave express sadness or pain.

How can a reader parse, “As a darkening dawn closes in on the wingless bird.”
“Darkening dawn.” is a contradiction in terms. And by, “The” wingless bird. I assume you mean the Moa, which is the only wingless bird I know of, and they’re extinct. And damn if I can see how they fit into this.

Language matters, of course, but language must always be in service of story, and in this case, the important story details that would provide a reader with context remain in your head, unsaid.

When you read this piece it works, because you know that missing detail and don’t react to its lack. And because you do, every line points to images, ideas, and story, residing within your mind. But you cheat. You know that detail before you read the first word. For the reader, who knows nothing but what the words suggest to them, based on their life and experience, every line points to images, ideas, and story, residing within YOUR mind. And since you’re not there to explain…

Always edit from the chair of someone who knows nothing but what your words suggest to THEM. Take into account that they're from a different city, and so have different shades of meaning to words you think obvious. They may have a different background, and so, slightly different cultural assumptions. They may be of a different age group, and even gender. And they may misunderstand anything that can be misunderstood because, well, because they're just a little stupid...like me.

[LazerRays]

Wow thi I a great poem on dying it's very gentle and calm and shows the peaceful side of dying. I like this a lot!

[Esther]

I'm glad you liked it. Thanks, Sarah.

[Einstein Noodle]

so drawn in by your V1 ..imagery, flow and scattered rhymes all work says i! but the story .. is incredible to me ... your voice and old man (well done) who lives his dream in the night and like a vampire shuns the waking day .. my heart goes out to him .. perhaps his reason is failing .. gently afflicted by dementia .. but knows enough that his dreams are better ... so he seeks sleep ... often used as escape in everyones life actually ;) that's what i got ...i'm stickin' to it :) very moving for this old man .. and i do hope not fortelling ...at least for a couple more decades ;)
E.

[Esther]

Thank you, but I do hope your prediction doesn't hold true :(

[Einstein Noodle]

me too! one day at a time right?!

[Esther]

Yes, and , being weird little mortals, we can extend our decades.

[Einstein Noodle]

sometimes ...that's a whole 'nother ball game isn't it?!

[Esther]

........yes :)