Tag Archives: age

Ravaged By Nature

Sullied winds chatter chimes lashed to greyed beams

Warped and splitting with age, appear none too long for this world

With each ring an angel must surely get their wings

As remuneration for a melody so heavenly revealed

~~

Steps crippled, squeal as mice in traps are bound to do

Bowing under the burden of the weary traveler

Fortitude ingrained, revives the weakened conscripts

Whose preparation has made them cordial adversaries

~~

Tawny hinges weathered by sun, beaten by the wind cry in pain

Remorse etched into their hammered finish confesses their age

Chagrined by subjugation, the door slams

Announcing defeat to it’s audience of none

~~

Dark but for dust pirouetting through muted shafts of light

Stirred by shuffling boots, tattered and worn thin by extended employ

Creaking under foot, floorboards rebel in unison with their owner

Shrunken and contorted from the weight of existence

~~

Ping of coils break the stagnant silence of the vessel

Sagging lumpy seat replaces a once firm cushion

A quiet ah, escapes from the lungs in expiration

Sense of relief but for the strain of fabric

~~

Cracking joints echo of broken glass in freefall

Legs wobble by exhausted mortise and tenon

Laden with rings, table balances precariously in an uncomfortable dance

Unsteady and unsure, time has reaped it’s revenge

~~

Tired well beyond youth, mortality returns from holiday

Waiting to reveal what lay interred beyond these walls

Neither refinish nor repair prolong to eternity

Only temporary and finite are the workings of men

~~

Man conspires with the dwelling in cosmic ways

Each subject to the ravages of the lifetime moment

Materially morphing into a shell of the original creation

Inevitably conceding to nature’s crowing fate

~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~

The Minds Eye

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder,

As does love when souls grow older,

Doth the mind play tricks on the aging eye,

Maybe so, it most surely try.

Portraying the look of younger days,

We overlook the changing grays,

Projecting on the freshness of youth,

Beliefs most surely are the truth.

With utmost certainty a gift this must be,

For lovely today as the first are thee,

Is this a trick or are we but blind,

Left to the mercy of a hopeful mind.

Doth this make us mere fools to our memory,

Would have it no other way if it let me,

Hiding away the ravages of time,

Leaving in life a love most sublime.

To Dine Alone

Coffee black and strong,

Gripped between cigarette stained fingers,

Making small talk,

How ’bout the weather?

Did ya see the news?

Filler to pass the time.

Old men hunched over cold eggs and bacon,

Swilling bottomless cups of mud,

Chain smoking Lucky’s,

Melancholy in the swirling cloud of second-hand smoke.

Each one has a story,

Exaggerated tales of loves lost,

Fables of misfortune and triumph,

White lies cast as bait to a sympathetic crowd.

“Sweetie”, a patron’s cry,

Barking for a check, menu, or refill,

Significant in this sea of anonymity,

Otherwise silently ignored.

The revolving door,

Room for one more lonely transient,

One more cup of thick black coffee,

Held between nicotine stained fingers,

Another tall tale wrapped in white lies,

Told to another friend,

Scarcely more than a stranger,

Just another forlorn castaway,

Adrift on a sea of tribulation.

 

Old Man in the Mirror – (A Poem)

Time humbles the man,

Back arching under the weight of a lifetime,

Old photographs,

A reminder of good friends and loves that long ago passed.

 

The mind drifts,

Not as sharp or quick witted as it once was,

Long gone memories much fresher than today,

Then again, yesterday fits me much better.

 

Hair gone white,

Deep creases travel like dry river beds across my face,

Skin soft and sagging,

Looking in the mirror I can scarcely recognize myself.

 

Who is that old man staring back at me?

Drawn and tired,

Teeth yellowed, eyelids hanging like cheap suits,

I know it’s me inside this costume.

 

The crumbling exterior,

A vessel for a lifetime of wisdom and experience.

Earned through pain, suffering, love, and joy,

A gift wasted on the young.

 

None of this would I trade for the impetuousness of youth,

Born of  blood sweat, and tears,

Etched in my face as a reminder,

A badge to be worn with honor.