Winters Run Poem by Kevin Patrick

The old gentleman stares
Under the weight of his time
Confined to his den
With yesterday's heights
He potters away
At his innumerable toys
The vestiges and salvages
Of his nostalgic parades
As the awards and the plaques
From his erstwhile prowess
Stair at him mockingly
At his ripened carcass
And he spends every hour
Arranging and rearranging
His chain ganging Diversions
Into a prisoners Shangri-La

And now you recline
In the crypt of your thrown
Slowly fading and decaying
On the island you call home
So polish all your trophies
and make their surface glare
You have the golden medal pined
On the lapel near your chin
While the children that you fought for
Now have families of their own
And dear Cecily is waiting
In the kingdom of the lord
So turn on to the reruns
Of all your favorite shows
And feel the frustration
In your worn out bones
For every Everest achieve
is a disappointed sigh
and an equal sense of loss
that every lines been crossed
As there's nothing left to loose
Now that everything's been won