Old

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He watches

through a pane

of dirty glass

like you and I

he's had a future

he's had a past

time for him

is almost spent

calloused hands 

like old cement

delicate fallibility 

impales his skin

ghost like stupor

invested in silence

quiet and guarded

bearded with thoughts

secrets antiqued within

waiting patiently now

for his hour to come

visual modality blurred

hearing obscured

deliberate and unmeasured

this process of decay

frail like lead paint

 

                    slowly peeling,

 

                                    chipping away................

 

 

Reviews

[EMF]

An incredible piece. Compelling. You have created a perfect character study in just a few lines. The depth of insight, coupled with a love of your subject matter generate a power and intensity, while you also imbed a tendrness and understanding that is incomparible. Class work Lady. Nice to get the time to read and reread. You have left me images that will be a long time peeling.

[Dream Weaver]

Absolutely a wonderful write Muse, Visually dramatic
as well as heartrending. I could almost hear the layers
of epoch peeling off..

[Liza]

interesting and empathetic; as we age, we're perceived as closer to decay yet the thoughts running through the perception are of intellect backed by experience in living while alive - more than mere existence

[ImagineItAll]

You just beautifully explained one of my main fears: aging and soon enough, dieing. This is a great poem! I agree, sometimes I wonder what elderly people are thinking and how they are feeling and if they are scared at all. Or sad. Or angry. And even if they are of sane mind.

[Blue Moon Ice Cream]

I often look at elderly people and wonder about their pasts, and what's going on in their heads as they know that their final days are approaching, so I enjoyed the subject of this poem. You always find such wonderful pictures to go along with your pieces! They are fascinating in themselves--and then comes the real treat, the poem! I loved the ending. Such a fitting analogy.