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The streets of old men – a poem

September 17, 2017 - 17:57 -- Admin

The streets of old men

 

We are all surfers on the waves of night

Where the bridge of humanity meets the edge of light

And where the old man stumbles along

Singing songs in the flattened tones of yesterday

 

Can we house him in a place of quiet?

Can he house himself in the riot that is life?

Can you?

 

There are too many questions without answers

Too many dances without dancers

And too many searchers searching,

Lost in a world of written words

 

Where the word remains unheard, always silent

While the stumbling continues

And we cross to the road’s other side

He is not our load, but others

 

Their steps do not come this way

They look and feign indifference

The market is nearby

That is why we pass the unnoticed

 

And then the stumble becomes a fall

The deaf hear the call

The anguish lives

Not in the home of the old man

There is none

But in our own

 

So much easier that the song end

Than that our oh so perfect diet

Unfriend a few on the net’s dear pew

The confessional of the correct

The pleader of upper class pleas

The old man is on his knees

 

And we walk by

There is a better world

Held together by lettuce leaves

Wet from anticipation

Strong in our nation of strong men

Until they age

 

And women, beyond the rage of men

They ken, they fucken ken

To no avail

All is failed, all is gone

The old man dies on the street, alone.

 

John Passant 17 September 2017