The streets of old men – a poem
Posted by John, September 17th, 2017 - under Poems.
The streets of old men
We are all surfers on the waves of night
Where the bridge of humanity meets the edge of light
And where the old man stumbles along
Singing songs in the flattened tones of yesterday
Can we house him in a place of quiet?
Can he house himself in the riot that is life?
Can you?
There are too many questions without answers
Too many dances without dancers
And too many searchers searching,
Lost in a world of written words
Where the word remains unheard, always silent
While the stumbling continues
And we cross to the road’s other side
He is not our load, but others
Their steps do not come this way
They look and feign indifference
The market is nearby
That is why we pass the unnoticed
And then the stumble becomes a fall
The deaf hear the call
The anguish lives
Not in the home of the old man
There is none
But in our own
So much easier that the song end
Than that our oh so perfect diet
Unfriend a few on the net’s dear pew
The confessional of the correct
The pleader of upper class pleas
The old man is on his knees
And we walk by
There is a better world
Held together by lettuce leaves
Wet from anticipation
Strong in our nation of strong men
Until they age
And women, beyond the rage of men
They ken, they fucken ken
To no avail
All is failed, all is gone
The old man dies on the street, alone.
John Passant 17 September 2017