Between failing vision,An ashened smile
Catches my eye
Only to witness my
Aged reflection.
Pruned skin
Folding against itself
With scraggly fingers
Of secreted tales
And times endurance.
The tenderfoot days
Have long since met their end
Long since set
With the afternoon's sun.
Walking on three legs
First with a stomp
Then a shuffle
Each time with a weary grunt
To get a round.
Stumbling through the days
With restless nights
Recounting memories as sheep
Of a time and place
Only this heart understands
Consumed by the loneliness
Dwelling in the dark
Awaiting my final sleep.
Olsfred James 2016©
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