Old age
but not
a torn page
'Who are you? ' she asks.
'I'm Rick, ' I say.
'That's funny, ' she says. 'I have a son named Rick.'
She stares at me.
'You look something like him.'
'Mom, I'm your son Rick.'
'Oh, my Rick! ' she exclaims.
She reaches out her hand, and I take it gently.
It's cold and I can see blue veins just beneath the skin.
'How are you doing, Mom? '
......
What old age?
Didn't you see me
last night
dancing on the live-stage?
That old man in the chair
with the still, spotted hands
hunched over on his porch
and gazing into nowhere.
His youth has ran,
on the ground he lands.
No one seems to care,
and onto them, his dead eyes stare.
When I am old and drenched in worlds of sadness,
And wear a lacy cap upon my head;
When, looking past the future's singing gladness,
I linger, wistful, in the years long dead.
When I am old, and young folk all about me,
Speak softly of religion, when they speak,
When parties are a grand success without me;
And when my laugh is fluttering and weak-
Will I then be content to raise my glances,
......
Old age is not the face
but the content in cranial -space
Old age
but not
a torn page
What old age?
Didn't you see me
last night
dancing on the live-stage?
'Who are you? ' she asks.
'I'm Rick, ' I say.
'That's funny, ' she says. 'I have a son named Rick.'
She stares at me.
'You look something like him.'
'Mom, I'm your son Rick.'
'Oh, my Rick! ' she exclaims.
She reaches out her hand, and I take it gently.
It's cold and I can see blue veins just beneath the skin.
'How are you doing, Mom? '
......
Almost withered, the lean, leafless flower
Smiles in half of twigless green
Like an aged woman
Banished from the heaven of beauty--
Smiling as a gesture to shower, in vain,
The sprinkles of youthfulness of expired skin,
Rusting in ageing bony pits
As if left in lurch like an exploded balloon!
......