An old man,

Smiling behind a window,

Speaking words I cannot hear. …

I choose to be,

Strive then decay,

Rather than stand around, …

Typewriters,

Jukeboxes,

Highlighters, …

In wintertime,

Overgrown branches,

Beseech to be pruned. …

As days pass,

I seek to find my peace.

To get old and rusty, …

To fall with grace,

Bringing smiles,

To their face, …

There are places,

I cannot see,

Or easily reach. …

Gifts,

Need not be grand.

It is the simple, …

Growing up I climbed trees,

To eat the fruit,

Among branches and leaves. …

It was there,

Among the colors,

Crowds and chaos, …

Awakening,

To a colorful sky,

As dreams end, …

Not all shadows,

Are bitter or dark.

Some linger for life, …

Birds in flight,

Seem peaceful and grand.

I imagine they live, …

And when the ice melts,

Beckoning colors,

To once again return, …

Grey rainy days,

Come and go.

Sometimes they feel sad, …

In earlier times,

I readily believed,

What my eyes perceived. …

I like visiting,

The older generation’s past.

Hearing their stories, …

To clearly see,

Where I want to be,

I first must delete, …

There was a time,

I craved all things new.

Now I seek to rediscover, …

To crave attention,

Proud and apart,

Or discreetly blend, …