He has grown tired in his advanced years, life has been tough,
He climbs from his bed and dresses to character,
In his mind he’s still young, handsome with his short dark hair,
Baby face and his cunning smile.
******
He places his patch upon his back, stands gazing at his silhouette in the mirror,
And shakes his head at the old man image that returns his stare,
His inner and outer don’t reconcile, they are two seperate beings,
Although his old bones creak as he turns away in disgust.
******
He loops back through his memories to his younger years,
Those years destroyed by cruelty and sickness,
Drugs annihilated those things that he made himself believe that he loved,
Those things shattered by inner delusions.
******
Regrets reside within his heart, wishing things could have been different,
Love just a delusion of grandeur, possession, and demands,
Threats and abandonment ruled the demonic outbursts,
And sadly, he’s just discovered that’s his fallback position today.
******
His heart races at the infliction of pain, making him feel alive once again,
Power courses through his veins as gaslighting dawns upon his day,
The years fall away as he travels back in time, to relive the kingdom of his making,
One last hoorah before death takes him by the hand.
******
Except the outcome doesn’t play out as planned, much to his disappointment,
The broken no longer shatter, the cries no longer scream,
Cowering from a hand raised is missing from this scene,
And he comes back to earth, understanding he’s now a broken old man.
******
His power has deserted him, his nemesis has grown too strong,
He’s just a shell of who he once was, drifting aimlessly in a sea of pity,
Age catches up with everyone, dethrones even the mightiest,
Head bowed as he shuffles back to the place in which he now belongs.
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (2)
The other day, I called someone who's 35 as "old". And then I realised I'm also 35 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Loved your poem!
I think we all experience many of these feelings from time to time no matter what ages. “His inner and outer don’t reconcile” - that is the challenging dilemma to make these do so! Nicely penned Colleen. 😊👍