The moist air is thicker now.
The lungs of old have plowed there ground.
Like weeds my dry hair grays.
Once plump fruit now molding with age.
Why must the wise grow old and die?
As the young at heart put life aside.
My eyes bleed for yours to see
What I’ve lost, and what’s lost me.
I wish I was a man more wise.
some day my burden dies,
and The man you will become
brings joy to the tears I cry.
So may the young take heed,
and grip the mold in him.
To master what he smothers,
and the fruit he gives to others...
Author notes
All critics welcome...
All my poems are free for anyone to print, and to use for personal use... :-)
gifts, wallpaper, ect.
A contest entry
- Stories Untold....................1200 ..POINTS.....PW-OK by Maxboy.
900 points, ended July 24, 17 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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A very good poem and message!!
Thank you for your entry.
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Need your name and permission for me to print before I can comment.
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I
Love this piece.....the emotion.....the deepth and the message behind the words really are heart feel and tugging.....you can almost feel the words wash over you....and take a hold......you penned this so expressively and so amazingly
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theres deep metaphors here an some i dont really understand
i get that its askin wise peeps to share there wisdom with the young an to teach em an that its from an older person whos hopeful for the young but its wayyy deep so maybe im missing something. its intriguing. theres some meter parts that i stumble on an the word molding broke my flow in reading the first part but i think i like it for what i understand
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