Old Man.

Nets of yellow
Skin so grey
He wont venture out
No not today....

In the summer
When arms are bare
The heartless folk they point and stare
'Look at him' they conspire
Like witches huddled round a fire
Unknown his scars
of which they gaze
he saved a family in a blaze.

The echos of his lonely footsteps
The kids spill out from school
'Get out the way old fool'
Rushing past
Not having a clue
The shrapnel he carries in his leg
A scar for the likes of you.

On his suit 4 medals
Proudly displayed
From his time on the front line
A hero of him
This country made
Yet so quick to accuse him
Of loosing his mind.

A winters evening
To church for a prayer
Lights a candle
sits quietly there
'Old mans got nowhere to go'
They don't see the reason
The carnation in his button hole
Hes not sitting there alone
His wife he visits in gods home.

Time slips like sand
Through his fingers
Still the memory lingers
Like a whisper he can no longer hear
As he fades away
Like the arms of his favorite chair.

One day the wind will call his name
And he will be young again
Free from the shell of an old man.

s. wilson 06.05.12