The pen
in the
hands
of the
old man
Hands
light and spotted
as
long-forgotten
ancient scrolls
on a
dusty shelf
Hands
that will soon
crumble to pieces
in
time’s cruel crucible
He takes
his thoughts
and
writes them down
They are as
stones
in the path
to mark his life
and its
passing
His pages
become much like
his crumbling
hands,
long-forgotten
until
A curious mind
plucks his thoughts
like ripe berries
from the dusty
shelf.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr. 2015
Another great piece, my friend.
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