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Old

by Angie Jenkins

An old man desperately extends his arm,
Fingers outstretched to the point of tearing
To claw at this fleeting image -
An infant playing in the sand,
Laughing joyously, carelessly,
As the warm breeze kisses his cheeks,
His eyes gleaming brightly like stars -
A magnificent contrast to the dark looming cloud
Surrounding the elder’s shriveled frame.

Oh, for one more touch, one blissful pause
From the hells of this world,
To be eternally locked in this moment,
This memory,
Of being joyfully immersed in the simplicities of life,
To be content with simply being.

But this child, now a man, has long since faded
Into the gloom, quickly and effortlessly
Adapting to the bitter chill of failure,
Sidling alongside his counterparts -
The tired, the helpless, the forgotten -
He will forever be sentenced to walk this earth alone,
Always searching for what once was,
For perfection;
A fleeting beam of sunlight in a forever darkened room.

12/19/2012

Author's Note: This was in my Word album for years - figure I might as well let it out to breathe.

Posted on 12/20/2012
Copyright © 2022 Angie Jenkins

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 12/20/12 at 03:49 PM

Almost sounds as if you know me. But I am only old and useless to those who know me not. Good write lady.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/21/12 at 03:58 AM

And I'm certainly glad you did. Outstanding work.

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