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Thomas H S Ung Dec 2015
The pitter-patter on the panes
Is music of the autumn rains

'Til barren tree and downy snow
Tell the fall, "It's time to go."
Or: "The Final Fall"
11 Dec. 2015
Graff1980 Dec 2015
I do not wish
To live to see
Time’s flow undone
In my memory
Experiences gained
To be lost so quick
Moments of profundity
Sadly dismissed
By a faltering brain
K Dec 2015
Nanny,
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I have ever done.
As I tread along the barren corridor that night,
I passed the poorest of souls.
Those whose frenzied hands moved without purpose,
Muttering incomprehensible sounds from their shrunken lips,
As they stared absently at the walls, never truly seeing.
With a clenched jaw, I had to divert my gaze,
Wondering who these people were
Before their lives were stolen by Time,
The unquenchable monster slowly sipping at their youth.
A loving mother, brother, daughter, husband, sister?
Their stories I will never know.
I wondered if you would remember yours…
365
The sign on the door read Christina Cook,
Written hastily on the old whiteboard,
Stained black with the names of those who resided here before.
I will never forget the unbearable sorrow I felt as I entered your room.
Nanny, you used to tell me aging was a natural process,
Like the changing autumn leaves.
But you forgot to tell me that after that beautiful,
Final blaze of glory,
They fall.
Littering the ground in their fading shades of brown,
Disintegrating into powder.
Spread by the wind as ashes.
I held your hand, and felt the leathery skin
That bound your delicate bones.
But, it wasn’t you. Gone was the strong woman,
Mother of 8, grandmother of 19
In your small frame, I found a child.
So proud to flaunt your red-painted nails,
It was always your favourite colour.
You drew the bed sheets down
To expose your barren legs and oversized diaper,
So proud to show me “how skinny” you were getting.
I wept inside for your degenerating body.
On the outside, I smiled and said "you are beautiful".
I swallowed heavily as I kissed your cheek and said goodbye.
Took what might be my final glance
At your weathered face that was once so full with joy.
I love you.
I hated myself for leaving you all alone in that desolate room.  
I wished my presence could provide you with comfort,
But I knew I couldn’t.
Fall was fleeting,
Snowflakes were falling,
And you didn’t know me anyways.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
He wants to run down hills
But his legs won’t cooperate.
He wants to go all night dancing
But 10p.m. is way too late.
He wants to go to Bar-B-Q parties
And eat until he wants to pop
But after a plate of that food
He know he had better stop.

He wants to read a book a day
By a great American author
But he knows after an hour
He’ll be asleep, so why bother?
He wants to go out drinking beer
On Saturday with his buddies
But that was way back before
He turned into a fuddy-duddy.

He used to be able to tell jokes
And leave the guys in stitches.
Now the only stitches he deals with
Are those letting out house britches.
He used to comb his thick burly hair
Into some becoming hairstyles
And now to beat it into some shape
Always takes quite a little while.

He remembers being able to sleep
All the entire night through.
Now, that is simply not what
His old body is going to do.
He’s going to get up at least twice
If he have a drink after three p.m.
Otherwise, it’s off to the john.
He accept this, says, “It’s who I am.”

He has to remind himself a lot
That he’s been around a while
And should be greatly thankful
That he can be this old and smile.
So he doesn’t ***** all that much
That he is no longer all that hot.
He doesn’t count what he no longer has
He celebrates what he’s still got.
Randy Ray Price Nov 2015
Once a seed so free, now a towering tree
No more than swaying in the young summer’s breeze.
It’s days as a seedling are long, long gone
Now its roots grab nature’s blessing, its leaves sing her song.
But its leaves aren’t just for singing and feeding, no, there’s something else going on.

Among its third highest branch, around quarter til noon,
a beautiful butterfly bursts from its cocoon.
It knows it’s pretty, it appreciates its flying ability
But, despite its wings of beauty and its newfound mobility,
It misses the days of munching on the leaves of the tree so carelessly

As I watch the butterfly drift far out of sight,
Panic sets in when I realize something’s not right.
Once I’d played outdoors for hours, but now no longer in the mood
I looked around frantically until I found that little dude
He whines as he leans against the old tree’s roots… “Daddy, I want food.”
Amber Nov 2015
with your heart  open for years
decades pass and you realize that you
still despite the air around you
cannot breath
You open the eyes
to find that you are  far far   away
from everything that you were promised
In the  lovely and bright
we are merly nothing more but a shadow
In this  moon and  darkness
I  think you  will find one  moment
that isin´t yours to capture and frame
we´re all just equally dead
in the presence of god.
David Adamson Nov 2015
5
Beneath a solitary cloud,
I try to imagine
Its hunger for solid form.
It is trapped in its becoming,
Blown along in a captivity of chaos.
I weigh the blessings of confinement
Inside the body’s slower entropy.
Posted earlier, but somehow not appearing in newsfeeds.  Reposting.
Robert C Howard Nov 2015
At 20, it's adios to childhood.
By 30, you have played your youthful folly card.
At 40, you have ground it out to mid-field.
At 50, the bigger helping was dished out yesterday.
At 60, you enter the final stretch.
At 70, you finally get to play your wisdom chips.
At 80, most are surprised to see you.
After 90, Godot is waiting for you.

*November, 2015
Pleased consider checking out my book,  Unity Tree - available from Amazon.com in both book and Kindle formats.
Cecil Miller Nov 2015
Wherefore art the shadows chased
Far into the recesses of the past?
The world is sans perception
With them wilted into retreatment.
Thither - they that matter.
All else exist for their splendor.
I long to see them frolic, once again,
As did that wild lorneful and youthful creature,
When I was he.
I hope you like it. 11-10-2015
K Nov 2015
On summer days when rays of youth suntanned
My ivory skin, I sat upon the swing
With little pink toes dangling in the sand
Fingers curled around the rusted chains
Calloused hands push firmly on my back
Propelled me higher into the blue sky
Naively I thought these days would never die

But now the summer leaves hang lifelessly
From fading trees, fall slowly to the ground
A quiet dignity in their decline
And now you sit upon the swing. I push
You down florescent halls, but still you smile
As we reminisce about the summer sun
In memories our happiness is found
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