The Old Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sits beside his window, his red-rimed eyes Unseeing In his mind are sunsets and rainbows, And shining stars in the dense cold blackness



Of space He listens to the laughter of children, mixed With the static roar of the engines Of ancient warplanes,



And longs for the cool, loving caress Of the sea He dreams of a place where every decision Is right,



And every game played Is won And the mezzo-forte of day diminishes To the pianissimo of dusk, he wonders,



Did I do it right ? May I play Again ?

Submitted: October 15, 2017

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Submitted: October 15, 2017

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Sits beside his window, his red-rimed eyes

Unseeing

In his mind are sunsets and rainbows,

And shining stars in the dense cold blackness

?

Of space

He listens to the laughter of children, mixed

With the static roar of the engines

Of ancient warplanes,

?

And longs for the cool, loving caress

Of the sea

He dreams of a place where every decision

Is right,

?

And every game played

Is won

And the mezzo-forte of day diminishes

To the pianissimo of dusk, he wonders,

?

Did I do it right ?

May I play

Again ?


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