My Poetry
My Friends' Poetry
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2058
The old Man wakes up today
The same as any morning, from
A long nightmarish slumber.
Alone.
He moves slowly, seemingly in a bit of pain,
With an arthritic gate
Through his morning routine.
He showers, dresses,
And sets breakfast at the table.
There is only one setting-
Like there has always been.
He tears another page from the calendar
Revealing nothing written down to do that day,
But the days don't matter much anymore.
He used to enjoy his day
Sitting out on his front porch
Watching the world go by.
But he doesn't anymore.
The neighborhood children are all frightened by him-
At least, that's what he hears.
Time has not been kind to his aged and broken body.
The endless tears he never cries
Has washed the green away
Leaving two cold gray stones
Staring out from deep sockets.
His nearly toothless grin is hidden
Behind chapped lips that never smile,
Hidden behind his long, unkempt, gray beard.
What is left of his thinning hair
Is pulled back into an outdated tail.
He needs a cane now for his knee.
His children and his children's children
Exist and live...
But only in his mind.
In all of his 81 long years
The old man never found love.
The old man lives with his pain,
Sadness,
Regret.
That old man is me.
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