The Solitude of the Oak
In the quiet corner of a weathered room,
An old man sits, his spirit a silent bloom.
His bones, like ancient oak, bear the weight,
A lifetime etched in wrinkles, a tale of fate.
I. Independence
He tends to his hearth, stoking embers low,
A solitary dance with shadows, a silent show.
His hands, gnarled and wise, mend frayed seams,
As if stitching memories into the fabric of dreams.
II. The Ache of Solitude
Pain, a constant companion, gnaws at his core,
Yet he stands tall, defying the ache’s cruel lore.
The walls echo with footsteps that never come,
No children’s laughter, no kin to call him home.
III. The Unseen Stars
Outside, the moon weeps silver tears,
For the old man who counts the passing years.
He gazes at the night sky, seeking solace above,
As if the stars themselves whisper tales of love.
IV. The Forgotten Letters
His desk holds letters, yellowed and worn,
From a distant past when love was reborn.
But the ink has faded, and the names erased,
Lost echoes of affection, forever displaced.
V. The Final Journey
He knows the hourglass nears its last grain,
His breaths shallow, like whispers in the rain.
No children to hold his hand, no kin to weep,
Only the oak witnesses his silent sleep.
VI. The Unseen Legacy
Yet in his solitude, he leaves a legacy unseen,
The resilience of roots, the strength of the serene.
For the old man, though unloved by blood,
Is a testament to endurance, a silent flood.
And when the final dawn paints the sky,
He’ll surrender to the wind, let his spirit fly.
The oak will stand, its branches wide,
A guardian of memories, love undenied.
Mark Sallee
