Centorian:

Tell me what is it you see
when you look at me
do you see but a old man
diminished and finished
life given taken
but now at the end
do you see my lines
traced on my face so
as if rerun train tracks
do you see the aged marks of time
spread about my leather skin
toughened by winds and rains
of many a year
do you notice my grey hairs
whispered white of a ghosts touch
my frail bones tired and aching
my curled hands that no matter the warmth
brings no relief
my sudden droops of eyes
and my need to sleep often
is this how you see me
incapable needy and a strain
led in abed sat upon a rocker chair
am I beyond the resources of the young
am I no help to those that walk
with a spring in their step
am I but now served my purpose
and now just surplus to requirements
a home you wish to place
forget me so
leave me be to wallow
in a personal rotting jail
a hospital bed you would leave me so
left to the worlds young
who have no time for a old man
and his stories that are etched
upon my frailed lined face
for if this is what you see of me
think you know of me
and all that is my life
lest you should remember
one day your be like me
alive with a thousand million memories
active with a trillion thoughts
and comfortable in reaching a time
and solemn place
were I am at rest with one and the world so
ready if it dictates to pass on
to the other side of life
until then let me sit and ruminate
as you go hurtling on in your life's
and know this
one day
your be old
and people will think as you do
of but me
x