Is It Poetry

Silver Star - 3,984 Points (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Old Age - Poem by Is It Poetry

I hear the world applaud frail limbs grow numb.
Eye's grow dim,
the priest has said no more upon your head than you can bare.
The truth of that small children know to ask.
The hollow tree dark skies lost limbs.
As humans die, alive, myself-what more.
Yes, this and that what more!
How ever deep I sigh, fowever more.
To see the world the distant past thy prophet told.
Ravished eyes to climb such heights and quite now I go.
To spend long days the shorter nights that grow.
And once we are we ever younger, old I feel.
Revelations spring hot prisons, pain I'm tired and so.
It's - all - when we can't hear the world applaud,
the final stage and quite death in living, I was human to.


Comments about Old Age by Is It Poetry

  • Gold Star - 8,667 Points Bri Edwards (3/3/2014 6:46:00 PM)

    iip,

    for some unknown reason i especially enjoyed these lines:
    Revelations spring hot prisons, pain I'm tired and so.

    i don't THINK you will mind if i copy the poem below and insert some doubts [in brackets] about what you meant to type. it could very possibly be that there are NO typos here, but i'm not sure. if i don't try to understand or find mistakes, i like the flow/sound of your poem quite a bit. thanks for sharing. :) bri



    I hear the world applaud frail limbs grow numb.
    Eye's [Eyes? ; no apostrophe] grow dim,
    the priest has said no more upon your head than you can bare [bear? ]
    The truth of that small children know to ask.
    The hollow tree dark skies lost limbs.
    As humans die, alive, myself-what more.
    Yes, this and that what more!
    How ever deep I sigh, fowever [forever? ] more.
    To see the world the distant past thy prophet told.
    Ravished eyes to climb such heights and quite [quiet? ] now I go.
    To spend long days the shorter nights that grow.
    And once we are we ever [we are ever? ] younger, old I feel.
    Revelations spring hot prisons, pain I'm tired and so.
    It's - all - when we can't hear the world applaud,
    the final stage and quite [quiet? ] death in living, I was human to [too? ] . (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 3, 2014

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 5, 2014


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