The Dying Old Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something I was thinking about...

Submitted: September 23, 2011

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Submitted: September 23, 2011

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He lay in bed,

Crying.

Not because he was dying,

But because he was dying alone.

 

The comfort of his family

Was gone.

His family

Was gone.

 

As he waited for that last breath,

Pleaded for that last breath,

He prayed that he would be able to see,

To be around, his family, just once more.

 

And then, that old man

Was a  young man once more,

Lying in his bed,

Surrounded by his family.

 

For one brief second,

He knew everything.

Not only what was,

But what will be.

 

The young man

With the old eyes

Glanced around at his family,

And cried a single tear.

 

His wife, still healthy,

Still alive,

Asked him what was the matter?

Why was he crying?

 

And in that instant,

The young man

Became what he had once been,

And the old eyes died away-

 

Embracing the sanctity of the present,

Blissfully unaware of the future.

 


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