The old man: A Poem


There again is the old man under the tree
If I told him his life was a misery, he would agree
He had wished he was like the other old men in the street
But nobody said anything even for a simple greet

He once had wishes to go abroad on a ship
But soon all ships stopped and his destiny flipped
He looked down at the pond and cold water he sipped
Even his nephews hated him and his long-lost script

He sat under the tree praying for his end to come
He wanted nothing more than to disappear like Jem
All his old buckled-up dreams came back to haunt
But he always told them he couldn’t be taunt

Years and years passed and his script was gone
All people seemed to forget the old man and his tone
All his nephews were soon settled abroad
But his little…

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One thought on “The old man: A Poem

  1. Beautiful rhythm and I think we all might have crossed paths with such a man.

    I once saw an old man drag an air mattress to the edge of the ocean and flop down on it where the waves could just barely touch his toes. He laid with his head to the sky and screamed and screamed. I watched, in terror and fascination, wondering if I should jump to his aid. When I finally moved toward him, it was over. He rolled off the mattress and dragged it away from the sea as if nothing had happened.

    Liked by 1 person

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