PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was an old man,
who sat in the park;
drinking his bottle of wine.

He sat with his thoughts.
Old clothes, old waves.
Alone in his soul,
in his personal cave.

Everyone he has known
has been gone for years.
Not a soul remained,
not a one, not a tear.

Drinking his wine; solitude.
Drowning his memories away.
Faces he knew, now gone.
No one remains, no one stayed.

The Mrs. had died, some years ago.
Children alive, but dead in presence.
The old man, inside the walled park,
praising the security of the fence.

His message was pure, simple.
His voice cracked with age.
He sighed to himself, rejected.
An actor without a stage.

There was an old man
who sat in the park;
drinking his bottle of wine.