Poems from my Archives. Originally Published 11/08/2011
The old man lay in his bed not moving much except in his head. His thoughts were whirling round and round as he remembered things and places, thoughts of oh so long ago when he was young and all the faces of those he had known he tried to recall but alas his memory could not relate to all of those whose fate he did not know or those of him as between them many years had passed and for this old man would soon be the last. For most of his friends were already gone to that distant place beyond where old men go when they are through with this life here on earth.
The old man lay in his bed thinking of all of the pets he had over the years they came in all sizes, dogs and cats, horses with bridles, saddles for riding and then there was Zippo, his faithful old horse who was just like a dog, would follow him around and nuzzle him looking for goodies and hand outs of the kind that only horses find, good enough to eat. Zippo lived to be thirty six years old and right at the end his spirit was strong and only the ravages of time slowed him down and he died in the arms of his long time friend.
The old man lay in his bed and wondered of the wives he had had when he was much younger, of the good times and bad, their beauty and grace, the way they moved that caused him to ponder and think of them then not just as women but of someone who he would like to be living for the rest of his life but as it turns out, he is alone in his bed with his thoughts as things did not go as planned and each of them left for a different life no more to be his wife and not here to comfort him as he lay die-ing on the bed.
The old man lay in his bed and his thoughts turned to the life he had led when he was younger much younger and his skill on the fields with a soccer ball that to him meant more than work or women or any of those things that make living on earth a part of the dreams of success but to him his greatest wish that was not forthcoming was to be a player with skills so outstanding that everyone knew his name.So he did what he knew he could do and that was to share a part of him to coach little kids in the arts of playing that wonderful game that had given him pleasure and was so much of his leisure. He hoped that this part of his journey was not wasted and that the kids he taught would go on to greatness not necessarily with a ball at their feet but life in general as they get to meet all of things that life throws at them and as they grow into men, somewhere in their memories are thoughts of the old man who lay die-ing whose race was run and who handed the baton to them.
The old man lay in his bed and remembered when he was a lad how irresistible were members of the opposite sex and how good or bad were his encounters with so many of them over the years. It has to be said that all were most willing and captivated by the charm he had then and even if a husband they had were ready to a take a chance to spend some time with this interesting man who it has to be said faced the wrath of of the man, the husband of this particular wife who for whatever reason was out and about and looking to seize on any man who gave them a glance and who was willing to take the chance.
The old man lay in his bed and lifted the covers so that he could see his body and how wasted it was no muscles not much more than skin and bone and he remembered when his body was a beautiful sight with muscles that were taut and tight that rippled at the slightest movement of the time when he could run like a deer and jump so high that he felt he was flying in the sky. He remembers that as time moved on, how much harder he worked to keep the shape he used to be in. Muscles turned to fat where before the muscles rippled under his skin. Alas no more would this old man be a thing of beauty for all to see instead the covers on the bed were pulled up high as far as his head so that the shrunken body soon would be and a thing of history.
The old man lay on the bed his thoughts turned to what would happen when eventually he would breath his last breath and he hoped that in the end, his passing would be no more than a formality and people would mourn at his funeral and say he was a good man and boy could he play for it has to be said that this old man now dead would be remembered most for the life he had led on the soccer fields daring to create strife with those around him both good and bad and all the friends he had would say he tried hard to make others see the way, the difference between the night and the day and the wonderful life that he had.
The old man lay on the bed and thought, what time is it I need to be up. I have things to do people to see a life to live and more memories to create as this is another wonderful day and look it’s raining now that’s a switch, that’s good that’s great as we could use the rain to make things grow, make things green was that a horrible dream I just had or a premonition of things to come. Who cares, todays just begun and I intend to enjoy it as though it’s my last to hell with things that are in my past. When the day comes that I am due to meet my maker and hope its true that he looks kindly at an old sinner like me.
© Francis Allcorn