The Aged Man

The Aged Man

A Poem by Ray' Quintas

The cracks of his skin are only

his history-


Crystals hang off every crooked finger


Morning air runs threw his hair-

Into hers


She breathes him in-

everyday it is him who fills

her lungs


Clean

© 2016 Ray' Quintas


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Added on June 7, 2016
Last Updated on June 7, 2016

Author

Ray' Quintas
Ray' Quintas

Milwaukee, WI



About
"Let the light of your soul transcribe itself onto the pages of eternity" more..

Writing