aging is an artA Poem by freelancejouster
an aged boulder of a face, with deep crevices and hair-line cracks, sunken rheumatic eyes, that have somehow retained their blind kindness over the decades of fumbling through life
and you ask him his secrets
as he sits, planted firmly in a willow rocker, perpetually mumbling in a voice of loose gravel.
two white shocks of hair, arch in amusement, and not that you're not amusing, but because no one ever sees him, he's thought himself blended into the landscape and as forgotten as his alzheimeric brain has made almost everything else.
and you ask him his stories,
though, he's forgotten but a couple, which would make him bored to tell, as it's only the mundane that stays with him.
and as he asks you your name for the sixth time that hour, you wonder if he's worth talking to anymore, when suddenly the boulder is broken by a smile composed of a mottled ear of corn
"anonymity is the secret to life. or maybe animosity i can't remember, probably both."
© 2011 freelancejousterFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorfreelancejousterWIAbouti'm a muppet with his secrets revealed. i'm a lost teenager. i'm a rugged adventurer. I'm a bumbling novice. i'm an awkward intellectual. i'm a tear-stained lover. i'm a starving artist. i'm an.. more..Writing
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