deepundergroundpoetry.com
HARVESTED TEARS
Grey wooden bench in the corner
Underneath the weeping tree
In silence overlooks the park
The old man sitting there
Seems part of the scenery
His breathing follows
The movement of the branches
Walking inside his own world
Reminiscing his past years
Where light and laughter
Were in his fortunate hands
But all he was left with now
Were harvested tears
Underneath the weeping tree
In silence overlooks the park
The old man sitting there
Seems part of the scenery
His breathing follows
The movement of the branches
Walking inside his own world
Reminiscing his past years
Where light and laughter
Were in his fortunate hands
But all he was left with now
Were harvested tears
Published 16th Jul 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 0
comments 10
reads 644
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.
16th Jul 2013 11:44pm
16th Jul 2013 11:55pm
16th Jul 2013 11:50pm
Such a vividly sorrowful picture your word brushes have painted...a portrait of poignant sadness upon this page.
This reminds me soo much of my maternal grandfather, following my gram's death...spending all those afternoons in their favorite park,lost in his grief and memories.
Such a touchingly lovely piece! Thank you for sharing!
This reminds me soo much of my maternal grandfather, following my gram's death...spending all those afternoons in their favorite park,lost in his grief and memories.
Such a touchingly lovely piece! Thank you for sharing!
16th Jul 2013 11:54pm
Boys don't cry but this man's eyes just got filled. Thank you for sharing your memory. And for feeling so well what I intended to put in writing in my simple words. Thank you!
17th Jul 2013 00:23am
17th Jul 2013 1:16am
Anonymous
17th Jul 2013 1:23am
My great-uncle was much like this - but always happier for a while when we could convince him to tell us a story about his life and times.
17th Jul 2013 3:48am
Anonymous
17th Jul 2013 11:26am
YES, I know the type of old men that you write about, see them in the city park and I see them at my work too. Once I read that old age is like loosing half the stack of books you own, and in the end its only a few left....
Guess we all have to deal with this one day
Guess we all have to deal with this one day
Anonymous
18th Jul 2013 00:26am
Thought provoking piece how we return back to nature in the end. Well done!
