Old Man Singing
By, Franco Duerme
Can you hear the old man sing?
With his great old rusty mouth?
Can you hear his dying soul?
When things did go down south?
His past is but behind him.
Yet he is here today.
His mind is but among the things.
That he begins to sway.
He thinks about the songs of past.
Nothing truly right.
But the golden eggs that lay in front.
Of his truly jagged sight.
So he now stands alone right now.
Because of his old past.
He does not stir or stumble.
He tries and make it last.
For his days are but numbered.
And his face is but a mask.
For his true self lies right under.
The pounds of certain tasks.
He continues to wear them now.
On his back he does not break.
For he is but a lonely man.
No treasure he does take.
No cure can come of this dark dawn.
Nothing true and nothing white.
He makes the best of what he has.
And finds something truly bright.
For he has made a new agenda.
And has moved the webs away.
He pushed them down the gutter.
On the bottom they must lay.
They do come up from time to time.
To haunt him in his sleep.
But he has more webs to store down their.
His emotions that do dig deep.
Now, he is in his bed.
Ready to face the facts.
He knows nothing right anymore.
Common sense he does do lack.
He now is older than he can count.
He must confess his dying love.
His passion he does bring along.
To the next life up above.
He can see the angels singing.
And he can see his holy friends.
He can also see his enemies.
No hard feelings he does send.
So he goes on to nirvana.
It is here he must do stay.
His next life still has those webs.
For Karma he must pay.
He cannot begin to wonder why.
His life has not improved.
For right now he can not begin to say.
What is and isn’t approved.
He stands back up and starts to sing.
About his old new life.
When the final clock counts again.
His death is but his strife.