deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hardwood


Heavy-set, he shuffles in  
container-ship pace  
he leans on his walking stick  
pauses with grace  
 
Hands rough as torn bark, from the land that he’s turned  
Left thumb a short stub, part of the respect t'was earned  
 
His head lifts a fraction  
casts benign eyes to his side  
as his grandchildren gather  
like branches on his thighs  
 
His arms cleared mountains, best tree feller without-a-doubt  
Now diabetic to his core, and riddled with gout  
 
“from the earth we did come,  
to which we return”  
He chokes on the words  
his stomach starts to churn  
 
The grain of his legs, are speckled with age  
Brown patchy skin, reveals an autumnal leaf fade  
 
They close her casket softly
singing hymns to her bones  
Chief of the village
now leading, alone  
 
His eyes swim with grey, merging dirt into dust  
They’ve seen better years, in life, love and lust  
 
Sadness somehow deafening  
resonates the timberland town  
and echoes his heartbreak  
from the sky to the ground  
 
 
 
 
TheAlbatross
Written by TheAlbatross
Published | Edited 22nd Mar 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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