silvermane (0513/2017)
a shuffle against the fence
in alleys overlooking
the potholes where the world once filled
and now,
age measured in silver teeth and winters
the season of harvest for your kind
grey-feathered and stronger every year
but more alone
weighed down with the unmarked graves of Us
though fewer
we are never smaller.
John Bastard
Mon 22nd May 2017 17:40
"the new come in. The old go out. But there's always been a couple posts that never moved, never changed. True relics in blood and body, unshifting and unchanging. They've been sanded down, worn away, skimmed and folded into the smallest and strongest they might ever be. They have survived, and to those of us that have simply LIVED, they might come off a bit distant. I imagine they can look at someone by now and see through all the fat of life -- peer into the core. So, if Left looks clean through you, don't take it personal. You're probably not going to make it."