The Old Man and I
He stood there still,
The old man,
Unmoving amidst the flow of passing people;
Coming to, moving from,
Oblivious to his presence.
His hair concrete-gray,
His skin leathery,
His stance shriveled and slouched
From carrying the weight of weary years;
And still, he stood there still.
I watched in earnest,
Curious as to what thoughts or musings
Randomly traverse his mind
As he stood there still.
Or perhaps there were none?
The nerves in his brain shriveled and stumped,
Fatigued from the worries of weary years;
Its impulses failing to a blinking spark
Until there was none.
No more thoughts, no more musings,
So he stood there still.
Unknowingly, while watching in earnest
The old man,
I, too, stood there still.
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