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With Laertes in his old age
by Arthur Partenthe changes in the old man's face say
i am mortal
and time has worn me slowly with the passing of its every drop
by extension you are no god either
your blood will return to water from whence it came
your bones will be ground up as fertilizer
you will be reduced to words on paper
the younger man smiles when the reminder of his mortality touches him
pale, weak hands grasp corded muscle
as tightly as they can manage
he strokes his bow faithfully and ends the wordless conversation
tomorrow time can have me
let it rend the muscles from my bones and make my skin as paper
but today I have a battle to fight 01/25/2006 Posted on 01/25/2006
Copyright © 2024 Arthur Parten
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