One Old Man

Redemption lurks like sun beyond the fog.
This haggard heart is beached and future seems
where once flowed silky blue, now stinks a bog
of toxic grey tomorrows, lean on dreams.
The stellar days, elastic once with choices
are now more dark ordeal than sweet delight,
and memories, a drone of muffled voices,
are phantoms dragging baggage through the night.
No pleading prayer returns a man to youth.
Screaming to a mute indifferent dawn
won't tranquillize the suffocating truth:
This romping jaunt through kingdom Earth is gone.
and yet, a soothing voice calls through my gloom,
"True Liberty awaits". Death is not doom.