He
is wise, wise and wizened;
hair
thinning, salt and pepper seasoned;
brow
lined and furrowed, quizzical?
Brows:
bushy, grey and wiry;
eyes
blue and vision fading;
nose:
large and Roman
(now
too long and thin (he thinks) -
My,
I can almost see where bone blanches skin).
Cheeks:
skin thick and craggy;
mouth
small, pursed and wrinkled;
chin
cleft, stubble sprinkled.
Ah,
and below the chin –
the
bugger that will be the death of him.
Untreated
– he too old (he thinks)
for
wrath of radiation beam
or
cruel brunt of surgeons knife.
So
this is he, this is who he is
above
the faltering heart in heaving chest –
his
face an echo - a diary of a life well-lived.
His
mouth clenching pipe, pipe-puffing,
puffing
pipe (vanilla flavour and aroma)
he
reminisces on the joys of yesteryears.
He
is alone – yet not lonely,
his
memories’ - companions of his past and present.
(He sips Jack Daniels – no, swigs it back,
his
body welcoming each soothing warming mouthful.)
He
thinks: if death comes tonight I hope it comes easy –
no
crushing pain of heart arrest…
But
should he be blessed to live another day,
to
see tomorrow – he will live it for the love of it.
But
should he not he knows (yes he knows)
that
those that gather grimly at his graveside
to
pay homage to his passing spirit,
will
sigh, smile and softly say:
Ah
Alex,
he
lived life for the love of it.
Anna
:o]
An
oldie regurgitated and shared in these strange times.
Stay
safe!
Shared
with the good folk at Poets and Storytellers United, hosted by the lovely
Magaly – cheers Magaly!
Also shared with the good folk at dVerse OLN, hosted by the lovely Kim- cheers Kim!
Also shared with the good folk at dVerse OLN, hosted by the lovely Kim- cheers Kim!
