Its late morning
The blinds were covering the rays of dreams
An old man with a wrinkled heart
Lying on a cloud
Morning meets the day
Day greets the night
The man sits up
Hides his face in his rough wet hands
He has no wife
He takes care of no children
No cat
No dog
Not a living soul about
He feeds off of attention
That is why he is so guant
Dazing at pictures that once were alive
Contemplating on weather it was him or not
Eating on his misery
He chokes
And sleeps...
Alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lonliness and old age, well done. You have insigts beyond your years. Ron