Gently, Gently by Ken HarnischGently, gently go her footsteps now
Barely heard and seldom followed
There was a time the past walked
In my heart with hobnail boots
Now, it wears hush puppies
And does not disturb my sleeping
As it scampers by
Age does not just ripen wine;
That old bottle of perspective
Up on the shelf, the one sheened in the
Whitish shroud of dust, now begs for
Its debut and tastes just fine
I stare at the glass and laugh
At my indulgences, knowing
If I met the same fool on the road
These days he would be target for
So much jest.
And still, I feel for him, who fell
For her. Who gave his all and can say,
Even now, it made him more alive
Than he ever was, or will be again.
And in the eyes that shine ever outward
And the heart that ticks inexorably towards
Its decline, there burns those fierce flames
Of remembrance that will not
So easily be dismissed, even by the Sage
Gently, gently go her footsteps now
Barely heard and seldom followed
It doesn’t mean I am unaware
When she is padding down the hall.
04/01/2012 Posted on 04/02/2012 Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 04/02/12 at 04:50 AM This is wise, and soft in that hazy, sleepy way we become as we age. Thank you, Ken. |
Posted by Mo Couts on 04/02/12 at 09:16 AM I have to ditto Alison. The 'gently, gently' and your awareness of the gentility is something that I think comes as we mature. I hope that my eyes stay clear enough and open enough to keep focused. Gorgeous. |
Posted by George Hoerner on 04/02/12 at 06:23 PM And another very fine write Ken! |
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