What became of me I ask,
did colour ever paint my face
drawn now
the lines tell the story
of use to be's.
Pondering
achromatic haze befalls me
memories ever fading
in the twilight of my years.
The chill of the morning,
October...
Leather coat I huddle into
forgotten was the scarf
and the gloves to warm my wrinkled hands.
Tucked into the seamed pocket
the silken red lining
throws some heat
as the blue of my finger tips changes.
Rush of the traffic
speeds heist
can longer focus
tired eyes carries my heavy load.
Lonely
my voice is silent
conversation shared as was the laughter
now just reflective images from the telly.
my company..
Unsteady footing,
I walk along the pebbled streets
to the village stall
bag in hand
pension in my wallet.
Fumbling
I pick up the paper
my only vision to a world outside my door
in pages turned
as was my life before.
Bronze trophy winner
Honorable mention
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