The pain throbbing from stem to stern
Like the watery eyes that run for no reason .
The plumbing that runs off and on .
The kind old hands have all wrinkled and become ruff .
The teeth have all gone , but there is no reason
Or no one to smile for .
Laughter grows old for there is no laughter
To share when you are alone .
The ears that can only hear the echo down the hall .
The walk becomes a shuffle .
The purpose in life has gone .
The hibernation in my old rocking chair
In front of my old faded TV or is it my eyes ?
The only screwing that is being done
At my house has to do with my reading lamp .
There is no reason to call anyone
For they have all gone their way .
Everyone talks about yesterday never tomorrow .
The only thing I lean on is the memories when I was young .
Evening shadows are the only thing that keeps
Me company at night .
The only time I do my crying is when I run or in a rain storm
For I am on the short side of life for I am getting old .
By Brock
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