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Poetry
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| He Has A Boat I Climb Into | |
| By ellie-jelly | ||
| 03 October 2006 | ||
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Just an observation of a dear old man I know. I'd like to work on this more, so feel free to comment as usual. He sits and watches the time go by, Not living in this world but one he sorely needs for his own comfort. No loyal companion by his side, no laughter in his eyes. The phone left to ring, and ring, and ring, and ring. The ringing being the only sound to echo through the cold and empty house. It's a house, not a home. he never had the chance. So he gruffs and he wanders around, ignoring the surrounds. Letting his grass dry out and grow, letting his mind dry out and shrink. Comfort for the old man, he can't find it. Seems like he doesn't want to find it. Becoming weathered and aged like the towels he hung on the line 4 years ago, still hanging. The towels seem to be the only thing over the fence that is still hanging on. Not even a smile could hang from his face anymore.
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