Old Man

Old Man

One time long ago,
back in the days of old.
There was an old man,
with a welcoming weathered grin.
He would ramble on and on,
I would linger not wanting to go on.
All the advice he had to give,
share with me his world he did.

In his days of youth,
he was a hell raiser on the loose.
As a teen he was a pain,
but stayed within his reign.
By college he was cured,
in a manner most tragic and crude.
His father was taken away,
a drunk driver was to blame.

Upset and without direction,
his mother was destroyed by depression.
“You see,” he said, “love back then,
was pure and without regression.”
His mother fell ill from sadness,
and he buried her in late August.
By this time he was twenty-five,
both Mother and Father had moved on.

At this point he would pause,
eyes looking to me from beyond.
I felt sadness for his loss,
“I'm sorry” was my first response.

“Do not feel sorry for old pain,
my parents' death taught me some things.
“Think of the love they shared,
she never cursed her husband's killer.
“She died healthy and young,
unable to live without his love.”

The old man must have read my mind,
solemnly shaking his head and grinning wide.
“Mother was no selfish woman you see,
she passed away because she knew,
That I was strong and would be fine.
I held her hand as she died,
believe me, Boy, did I cry.
I would rather her happy with Dad,
than lie sickly in bed clutching his ghostly hand.”

He would show me a faded photo,
two lover's in deep embrace.
Proudly he would say,
they were with him to this very day.
At this point his wife would walk in,
begging my pardon she would lean,
and kiss the old man upon his forehead.
Smiling she would walk away,
grinning he would wink at me.
I asked to take my leave,
thanking him for his hospitality.
With a firm handshake he spoke:
“Take my words to heart,
do not go where there is no spark.”

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