PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

An old man,

hair grizzled,

face lined,

enjoying each day

on the park bench

watching children at play.

Their laughter and energy

stirred memories of youth,

when his veins

pulsed with joy of living.

How insignificant seemed

childhood scratches

compared to adulthood wounds.

He had climbed his mountains,

sailed his rough seas,

achieved peaceful pastures.

Autumn sun's warmth

made him drowsy.

His mind carried him

back through the years

as he drifted into sleep.



Gardener found him there

on the park bench,

silent, still;

sleeping the sleep

from which there is no awakening.