Poetry and Short Stories

The Old Man's Musings

Through streams of time the vision flies.
Past years and days forgotten.
You look at me with weathered eyes,
A smile which doesn't soften.

I hold your portrait in my hands,
I study it at leisure.
I note the tightness of your hair,
I'm sure you were a treasure.

My ancestor some have said you were,
A distant mothers son.
A hero in some ancient war
Which no side truly won.

I wonder what you hoped or dreamt
I want to know your past.
I wish that life had been more kind
Or in bronze you had been cast.

But such is not the case it seems.
I only know your name.
The portrait yellowed now with age,
Is all your call to fame.

Yet I look at you with those same eyes,
I have your roman nose.
I sport the same dark locks as you,
My brow had got your furrows.

I place your portrait on the wall,
And straighten it just so.
It'll hang here now in this long hall,
But I shall surely go.

My days themselves are running out,
My life is growing dim.
Time flies to fast for fear or doubt,
I'm sure this is the end.

Some day, I'm sure, in years to come,
Another pair of eyes
Will look at you and think these thoughts
And wonder why time flies

The promises life offers
Are broken soon in death.
I leave you now to guard this place;
And take my final breath.