The Eyes of an Old Man repost

The Eyes of an Old Man

 My eyes grow tired, and are weak
No longer the strength of youth
With one last effort I must seek
The shinning light of truth

As I sit alone unable to move
My past I must now recall
My tired eyes must strain to see
The framed pictures upon my wall

The dusty frames of glass, and wood
I must view at all cost
To cherish and hold if I could
But alas that time is lost

As I focus the frames take form
With each picture and in turn
My memories flood like a storm
And in my mind do burn

For in front of me lay my life
Frozen in timeless stills
The thoughts, and dreams both good and bad
The battles of endless wills

The love and caring of family and friends
The good memories I chose to store
The loved ones who met untimely ends
Through unspeakable acts of war

I close my eyes to stop, and think
Of the life I had ignored
But in the time it took to blink
My last picture was the Lord

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tnderhrt23 profile image

tnderhrt23 5 years ago

I relate to this write...a nostalgic, realistic poem. Thank you.

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