old men rust and creak,
in their bodies, in their souls;
wrinkle into their chairs
till neither is one....
having paid every penny
of the price of life,
rung up, and forgotten.....
shadows without purpose,
untouched in the cold.
every brick laid seamless,
without distinction,
or identity....
old men wrinkle into their chairs,
and no one knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
oohh! ! ! ! so not true..old men are the last of the gentlemen on this planet..they could teach the young men a thing or two..if they could just get out of that chair haha! ! ! ! liked it..nice writing. -SG