Old Timer

Years of torturous tears gone by

falling from the crow’s feet.

Sitting alone in this familiar place,

Forever loving, forever wanting,

to be by their sides.

After, the lioness roars and

sends her cubs, upon their way.

The toil of emptiness creeps within.

Boarding in the interior of the mind,

the signs

of hoarded possessions appear

in mountains along the wooden floors,

filling empty spaces where distant

memorialized shadows used to hide,

wanderings of distant figures, mute,

roaming in the past, in the mind.

Representations of uncoordinated bliss

organised in a hickelty-pickelty

of strange thoughts, of cold hard facts

beyond the gap, between unconsciousness

and reality twice removed.