The
Old man
Sits overflowing with
Mercy. Little of which for
Himself he reserves. Wrinkled to the
Point of his unbelief. For he reminisces
Upon the days when he knees jutted out,
So gracefully they sensed no aches and Creaks. A sensational torture for him These days, which might be till his eyes He shuts in darkness.
Upon
A ponder he
Recalls his memory
Serving him so vividly.
When
Nature's breeze
Was the air
He spoke. His hands
Moved, so pumped with speed.
Spurned round and round in the
Tremendous heat. Showing off strength, Speaking of it in ounces.
Bullying with his words, swindling with his deeds.
Smiles of triumph brush his lips.
'Contemptuos satisfaction'
Screams his lips.
Belittling all around him.
His streak it remained, despite the
Years rolling relentlessly by.Now sealed Permanently in a smirk of regret, as his Sun gradually oranged from the it's Golden rays. Smokeyblue it became.
With a bundle of shadows bubbling all around.
Left
With no
Friends, lonely with
Echoes. Echoes of emptiness.
Shame. Like an empty shell with its
Occupants lost. Never to be found. Was it worth it? Wonders he. All those years
Of painting sincere pain. Bitter-sour
Scenes on the heroic stage of cruelty.
Was
It worth it?
There he sits, his
Thoughts wandering,lost.....