An Old Mans Curse

By today’s standards and rules of life he was old.

Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild’ played full tempo in the background –

And for just a brief flickering moment I glimpsed his soul.

I watched his eyes as they darted back and forth –

Starring intently – burning like coals.

Young girls twentyish – cute with skin still smooth,

Pranced past him in their girlish ways.

I could see the longing within his eyes-

As he remembered being young in that long – long ago day.

I wept a little for him as I too know that glaze,

Yes, that look which lay sleeping on the memories of youth lost –

Lost forever in another day of life’s perpetual haze.

I watched him in my own silence as a lone cold tear fell from his eye.

He tried to mask the shame and fumbled for a cigarette,

Which fell in slow motion to the floor.

He remembered Nam – The smell of flesh.

He remembered it all though he wished he remembered no more.

Youth, Oh Youth – Damn its hold –

Damn its curse, its grasp on an old man’s soul.

Pity now – this man who sleeps on yesterday’s dreams –

This man – this old and now decrepit who understands what he sees.

For in this folly he see’s youth in all its glory and pride.

Yet in his mind he feels he can taste this tenderness one more time.

Again he weeps and I, a distant stranger in his pain do share.

I understand – I realize – I too remember the sweet touch of youth-

Its skin so soft its voice sweet and unbroken- its soul yet ravaged by time.

I also think it not to be by all standards right and true to be fair.

J. Allen Wilson 4/2/2011