Grey hairs where a threat like a submarine in foreign waters,
The radio man was a bed time story teller
The TV the nightlight comforter
Musical tunes from the record player was the black out curtains
So much noise for one head to absorb.
painted veins , mottled skin, pimple cheeks and pimpled chin,
Chilling memories on shins.
Grey hairs where like a threat like a submarine in foreign waters
Candle holders gathering dust a reminder that flames once flickered
Hollow bulb sockets once beamed
And empty rooms once breathed in breath like lungs,
It all functioned all made sense.
He wasn’t ready to be old yet
Maturity was too simple
Making a life out of living was too complex
Being broken was awfully perfect.