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.