Aged Six Years (pt. 3)
I’ll put these old poems to rest for a bit after this one. This one is kind of a downer, but I like the rhythm in it . There’s kind of a systematic break and halt to it, and the lines are short, with singular thoughts in each stanza. So, I hope, you kind of get the picture and empathize, construct the whole idea around the emotion and scene. P.S. WordPress is not friendly to line breaks and text formatting. P.P.S. go to Rodor’s blog and tell her what you think love is: rodors.wordpress.com
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A Man Sits Quietly
A man sits quietly in the garden,
Tries desperately to sit with grace,
His hands clasped, his heart broken
His brow is naked in the sun
He makes no effort to quell the rays,
A man sitting quietly in the garden
With every moment his eyes darken
His lips quiver in pitiful ways
His hands clasped, his heart broken
Here and there tears freely run
Down his sun-hardened face,
A man sitting quietly in the garden
He’s locked in a nightmare, He can’t awaken
Eyes pressed shut, he prays
His hands clasped, his heart broken
His love, she is gone, distant and fallen
He mourns lowly now in this place,
A man sitting quietly in a garden
His hands clasped, his heart broken
Into the Grey 