This Old Man
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.
Copyright © Daniel Larson | Year Posted 2014
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