Two Measures

Young men

love their music, they wrap themselves

in it like a blanket, warm chords

on guitars and recorders, mandolins

and pianos

they take their lovers in their arms

and they learn to do the dance

each song their salvation,

each dirge a delight;

Old men

tire of music, their ears near deaf

and their lovers fallen to dust

knees shot, back too sore for dancing

worn-out strings broken, wires cracked

and their fingers have forgotten

how to tune,

each song a suicide,

each dirge a death

Reviews

[Jennifer Patino]

I like the wordplay with the title & the topic of the poem. Perspective is everything. It changes within us from one day, year, decade to the next. Great work.

[JR]

Two different seasons, two measures on one life. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it.

[Jennifer Patino]

Sure thing.