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Poem

In solitudes of silence,
     under darkness of a night,
Hidden thoughts of yesteryear
     flex their weary wings for flight.
Through the haze of memory
     and above once travelled roads,
Music drifts on westward breeze
     far from long forgotten odes.
Age waits around the corner
     in the shadows of lost youth,
Tells you nothing of this day,
     even less of where lies truth.
Pavements grasp the dying moss
     in pictures devoid of hue;
Boarded windows stand in place,
     blocking out this old man’s view.

Cries upon the distant days
     yield warnings of the storms,
And according to the blind
     they’ll be seen in many forms.
East to west and back again,
     high upon an open stage,
Northern lights will guide the way
     to the turning of the page.
Values once written in stone
     haunt those looking to the past,
Yet as they fade to shades grey
     it all passes by too fast.
What’s here is here for now,
     what’s been handed down is gone;
Still there’s no one to explain
     where this old man does belong.

Been so far removed of love
     more than once throughout the change,
And many times passed the rose
     so unrecognised and strange.
I’ve looked down on footprints small   
     disappearing o’er the hill,
Nothing but to follow on
     though it was against my will.
Once again the forest deep
     turned the meek into the wild,
And peering back through the dreams
     saw an image of the child.
Innocence personified
     yet too young to understand
That circles will be complete
     when he farewells this old man.

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