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Eternity Seen In An Old Man's Eyes
Old age ain't fun. I can't drink, think, conspire or drink
I sit alone with all my moans with words of mouth that now just stink.
Time was when I had wings for feet so sleek and fleet.
Slowly, slothfully sniffing my ties, mocking my cries
Blurring my eyes, watching the flies on corpses of lies.
Hands tremble as icicle suffocates on eve, drip by drip taking its leave
One more hope, one more rope and noose choking a sleeve.
A liar, a buyer, a black pyer hook with sly smiles a' cloaking
I stand on moving hand as tick becomes tock and ember stocking.
Fly slow, oh memories pure tell me again how "we" endure
Fly soft, oh angel of sanity, keep my eyes from softer vanity.
And walk heavily, oh sword of law, erase "her" sin that I only saw
Talk, oh heavens of sanc, like my yesterdays, skin so soft, hands so raw.
We danced, we sang, we drank too much in Heaven's view
Bones breaking, old spirts aching, no will to lift a shade.
Clinging wrinkled eyes see death's blood in older eyes
And now, muted cries as breath settles then lies.
How swiftly Mercury flew and quickly "her" bosom knew
I was bowing to unseen rooms in "her" icy rooms of blue.
She never spoke as I gasped on her scent, never giving a clue
"Her" neck of wine, lips divine, and opaque vows she threw.'
Now here I am gazing again through dirty pane of walkless lane
Seizing each beat of old heart's retreat and rain kisses my hope away.
Finally. Oh, relief of finally. An end, my end. My flowers still born.
Head bowed low, no gold to sow and meet whom I dreaded
The tunes I sang, the thoughts that rang and roads I seldom treaded.
She fades from dancing on my eyes of easy sun and butterflies
Cries as muted minions lording past forgotten dominions.
Steps cease and eagles reach the "strand" once given
Waiting, debating and not expecting my beggarly lot.
So reach high, oh spirits of free and fair, of long, quiet steps of dusty stair
Touch me, oh pitiful wings, tell me a dream of childish things.
Wash the labor, the savor, and wasted sweat from my frame
Lay me swiftly in moist sod so sweet
Wild roses at head and stones at my feet.
We danced. We sang. We drank.
"If eyes are windows to the soul, then the scars on an old heart tell a story all their own."— Kenneth Avery