Last Memories of a Warrior

Aging jagged skin gave him depth in perceiving eyes Ridged hands defined he was a man of work Seldom had he spoken and when he did he uttered wisdom He smelled a storm from a thousand miles away He peacefully sat on the withered porch gently swaying in his wooden chair Played melodic tunes of his blues harp which complemented sounds of the tempest He was a man of time Mistakenly I witnessed him at an undisturbed time of vulnerability Tears flowed from his enlightened eyes dampening the tobacco stained shirt Mesmerized of sorrow I was seized by an inescapable plague of tears tears halted of time Minutes later he entered, Hands of labor, body of strength, and eyes of wisdom, What’s wrong he asked, I had no answered I didn’t know shrugging my shoulders He knelled down on aching joints Wisdom whispered from his lips to my ears for the last time “Even Warriors cry James” “Even Warriors cry”