Treasure Island

Phil Charters

(11/05/1958 / Australia)

Grandfathers Eyes


His face, ravaged, by time irrepressible;
a lonely tear tracks, the wrinkled havoc,
and falls silent, to his lap.
Emotions, not controlled, he once
walked proud;
his voice, now barely heard;
long ago was loud; and o the
aged shuffle,
so often does he fall, his wretched body,
now consigned, persona too, confined,
with strangers, in decay;
living, breathing, precious air;
on the edge of non-existence.
Despair.
Yet eyes, sorrow filled, overflow grief,
to trickle down, his ancient cheeks;
shout, in words, unspoken;
“Know me, you, do not.”
For I am young, vital, with children;
a wife, a home, I have it all,
here within my mind;
but O the force, non-existence,
kept pulling at my being;
my strength began to wane;
time sped faster, then a bullet train;
so here I am thus stranded, in these my final days;
to hold a grandson, in my eyes,
so blissfully unaware,
within his youth, wasting time;
building dreams, to gain forever life;
O what pain, his fate is mine;
with hope forlorn, for he was born,
on the edge of non-existence.
Alone, in his despair, no spoken word,
the message clear,
within, Grandfathers eyes.

Submitted: Wednesday, September 01, 2010

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