A Young Man darts from side to side,
Stood up tall, chest out, arms to the side.
The Young Man stands: heart full of pride,
But when his future and opportunity start to coincide,
And when our eyes, eyes of others
stop to seek,
The Young Man opens his mouth to speak.
An Old Man limps lamely to get out of the way,
Eyes sunken, arms withered; like a dead rose in may.
He’s exhausted rigid at the end of the day,
He looks in the mirror and what does he say?
Admiring the facial lines and stories for a treat,
The Old Man opens his mouth to speak.
The Old Man hears with no sound; looks with blind eyes,
Yet somehow he sees the truth behind their lies.
A wrinkled mouth for a thousand stories, its no surprise
he’s drowning in fearful memories; he slowly cries.
The Old Man opens his mouth with a croak,
But the Old Man’s hushed with a frog in his throat.
An Old Man–wise beyond his years,
Has lived though all the Young Man’s deepest fears.
His life story will bring you to tears,
But the Old Man stops, before his peers.
He stands up tall: no longer weak.
The Old Man opens his mouth to speak.
A Young Man offers a hand to him,
No longer tearing each other limb from limb.
The Young Man opens an ear to him,
Listening to all the Old Man’s sin.
And knowing full well the Young Man’s eyes leak,
The Old Man keeps his mouth open to speak.
JJ Jane
2021