Old Smelly Men
The callous wind slips unseen past crags time worn.
Shallow echoes return unto from whence they were born.
Old smelly men by the sea lounge on their long ago dreams.
Albatrosses soar in solitary flight carried aloft by silver moonbeams.
Days come and go swallowing each other and shorn by weary time.
Sands shift on the complacent horizon obscuring life’s delicate line.
Laughter falls like rain upon the faces of those who can’t see.
Sorrow fills buckets of misery by those whose hope did flee.
Cumbersome are these days which draw close to encroaching night.
Paradigms of flawed design impede the structure of wrong and right.
Oh callous is the wind which blows on the pretext that all is well; all is fine.
For still, old smelly men lounge on the lost dreams of another forgotten time.
J. Allen Wilson © 2007