The Old Man

Truthfully, he wasn’t always old
Though he blew away his youth
As if there’s no tomorrow;
That’s the unvarnished truth
Surely, he has nostalgic memories
Perhaps not for innocent ears
Of the days when he was young;
Those wild and crazy years
Friends by the hundreds, he had
And lovers too numerous to count
Parties, adventures like clockwork
But true love, he never found!
Money he made; money he spent
Live today, mortgage the future
Wine, dope and games of chance
A merry life, he felt quite secure!
But wealth doesn’t forever last
And looks evanesce as youth fades
The body withers faster when abused
Life’s a deuce, not the ace of spades!
In a wheel chair, now he sits still
In an urban old folks’ home
So called friends come not at all
He’s weary and too weak to roam!
Yes, he has chock-full of memories
Of his young years, of days long gone
But even those are quickly fading away
It is twilight, he may never see the dawn!
© Vic Evora

A poem from four years ago. When I was mulling how lucky I am to have my wife in my old age.


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