Wednesday, August 24, 2016

the changing fortunes


The old man sits on the bench
By the park under shady trees
The falling leaves floating in his eyes
He knows the types he sees it before

Once you are needed
Everything can be had
There is no question about it
Name the price work hard

The fat paychecks; big bonuses
The envy of friends; the jealousy of enemies
They will lick the boots to get there
The aura of power the command of a word

When the energy snapped
When the ideas flow dead
The reverse of fortunes
The spread of doom

The old man smiles
It lasts while it stays good
Every actor will know the drill
The adulation will not last a time

He looks at the falling leaves
The wind blowing it away like cheap dirt
Nothing to remember only the leftover
For the ground to moisture its nutrients

He closes his eyes and listen
The whispering wind of the wild
He says his prayers now he is out of his time
An old man sitting on the bench


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