The story of their life
is nearing the fag end,
The graph of the health
has a sharp descend.....
The world is rushing
it's own race,
Their lives don't flow
at that pace...

Possessing a rich and gorgeous
past to share,
But hardly find anyone
to give an ear.....
Chicks flew away
in pursuit of their quest,
The elder couple
is lonely in their nest....

Meditation, yoga
and the doctor's visits
Are prioritizing their
"to do" lists....
Waiting for festivals,
when kids pay visit.
Their childhood moments,
the minds revisit.....

Memories fading,
limbs poorly coordinating.
Hearts are weary,
heavy,
yet pulsating....
Unknown emptiness,
deep melancholy.
Splendid dwellings,
screaming loudly.....

Eagerly wait to meet
with other elderly,
To accompany on the walks,
and to talk heartily......
Relaxing and rejuvenating
laughter at the sunset.
The sun sets daily,
the hopes are alive yet...........

On my daily evening walks i come across many elderly couples and singles.
Most of them have their children settled elsewhere mostly abroad.
I see them strolling and laughing together but i could perceive the shadow of loneliness behind their laughter.
I was inspired to write this during one of my evening walks when  i saw them celebrating birthdays together.
Tommy Randell May 15

Today I Zagged
When I should have Zigged
I settled for safe
When I should have bigged.

An old man's fancy
I'm glad it's still there
That I will always want to
Leap up from my chair.

But time to be grateful
For the way out when it's offered
Now the Spring is Sprung
And my knees have turned awkward.

I'll settle I think
For the Brandy & Port
And not dwell on what I didn't
But that I did what I ought.

Better not to take risks
A week from retirement
In Work, at Play
As the Flirt-er or the Flirt-ant.

Age has as it's envoi
A phrase or two worth while
Leave the Zig-Zag to the young
Make them smile, if you can,
Make them smile.

Tommy Randell 2017 05 16 00:34 BST

The great and glorious game
has many twists and turns
and Age should not blame Youth
for the lessons it must learn

I am young,
And I am fearless.
Nothing can hurt me,
And I will not fall in love.

I am dumb,
And I am learning.
I don't know everything,
But I will never fall in love.

I am older,
And I am wiser.
I have her to teach me now,
But I am still not falling in love.

She is peace,
And I am war.
I know I said so before,
But I will never fall in love.

I am hers,
And she is mine.
I've been lying all these years,
Because now I am finally in love.

She is old,
And so am I.
The book we wrote needs a close.

So we are in love,
And you will be too.
Maybe today, tomorrow,
But hopefully very soon.

When you find it -
This I promise you,
Don't say you're not in love,
Because you'll be lying too.

Grace Feb 19

it takes Courage to grow old
Wisdom to grow young

Experience for youth
and Humility for some;

Innocence for the years
and yet Virtue for none.

We're deep to our waists
In February;
Trees look like a geriatric pool-fitness class,
And the grass,
Sparse as the bobbing skulls.

      I heard a lone Canada goose overhead,
     The V has left the others for dead;
     And a gray pall covers all
     With winter's threadbare spread.

The alarm is set,
The time is right,
The season's snug,
But not sleeping yet.

     Soon, the beast will close its eyes,
     And Spring will march in,
     Fresh and vigorous,
     Like a new recruit,
     Green and anxious.

She'll fire-up roots, flowers and leafs.
In the pool they'll sway in the breeze,
Branches touching in Spring's reprieve.

Steve Feb 8

Old man what are you seeing?
Through those foggy old eyes
When you're smiling at the girls
Do you even realise?
When you walk down the street
And those people you meet
It's not you that they see
But the shell of what you used to be.

Old man what are you seeing?
Through those tired old eyes
When you forget what you were about to say
And you don't remember half of yesterday
When your bones creak
Because your back's weak
It's not you that's there
But the ghost of what you once were

Old man what are you seeing?
Through those wise old eyes
The soul that sailed the ocean
The force life set in motion
The hero when it told
The heat when it was cold
Remember it was you life found
It's for you alone the wheels go round.

© Copyright SE February 2017

Playing with the idea that we are all the centre of our own universe.

What to do,
one's life?
Eternal quest,
ageing, familiar,
Know there is,
heart, yearn,
quest, -love
Eloquent
unattainable
What this,
is
must be something
nonpareil.

Propel me forward
WORLD!
Longing, desire,
existence...
Ad nauseum
big
remember me
-as big
bathed in cosmic energy
wilting in the Sun
and
dying

We grow old everyday and when we clock the Age 50, we begin to count our days and deeds as never before,
Though old age may not show in our faces,
But the experience we have had all the years, are our medals and awards
Who would believe I am above 40?


I have been blessed with the gift of youthfulness

Growing old
Haylee Dicker Jul 2016

Translucent and cold,
My body doesn't even shiver,
Lips faded to a dull grey,
This isn't old age.
Inside is empty,
As lonely as my shell.
Earth is my personal hell.
They push on my chest,
To rescusitate me.
The blood pumps and for a while,
I'm alive again.
My previous corpse blown away.
But it doesn't take long,
I soon become fragile,
And my insides shatter like glass.
A 100 cuts just in my mind.
Walking down the street you wouldn't tell.
For I delicately place my mask on every day.
To hide my pain and Shame.

T E Pyrus Mar 2016

he leaves his
window open
so the rare
wind whistling by

through a dust-coloured
day; in a
dust-coloured cell
on a dust-coloured
treasure chest lie

his faded blue
attire, worn and
patched by gentler
days,

greyed gracefully
to dusty black;
new wrinkles
on his face

weigh him down;
a faded
treasure chest
stares at a cement
coloured wall

over his head,
and the lonely
voiceless mist,
blinding; hear it
call

to rusty,
dark and sunless
sky, reflected
in his eyes,

when a bright and
impish countenance
eclipses tired
sighs;

the tired rusty
treasure chest
five decades
hibernates,

to feel the stirring
light of grey,
to feel new
hope, awaits

the cold and
stinging storms
that pour, taste
salty youth again;

the dusty
yellow rain boots
melt, ecstatic
in the rain.

T. E. Pyrus
https://lampteacupoverthinking.wordpress.com/

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