The Weathered Man

A tree falling in the wood.
Unknown and misunderstood.

A finely scarred and beaten hand.
Perhaps a means to understand.

The eyes, the deep, would they tell?
Those portals to a certain hell.

Look away, look down right now!
What then will this herb allow?

Stuck in some well-worn ways.
Where he is, that’s where he stays.

Built a life on bias and will.
It worked before but would it still?

Brought him fortune, brought him peace.
Brought many reasons to never cease.

In these ways, to him they’re good.
He listens like a piece of wood,

To those who would try to sway.
The friends he had, that went away.

Most of the day, he’s all alone.
To obscure feelings, he is prone.

On what, on which and what for?
A mind inclined to explore.

In solitude and locked up tight,
His thoughts bring him some delight.

While harboring a touch of sorrow.
Not for what may come tomorrow.

It’s his longing for the past.
A past that wasn’t meant to last.

It’s the world that passed us by.
Leading us to how and why.

A life that’s turning him to dust.
“Continue on my way, I must.”

Fixed, his end is guaranteed.
But for parts that will proceed.

The legacy, which does adjust,
To times ahead as it must.
© 2020 TheRememberings Ltd.

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