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Sits An Old Man

Staring into booze clouded memory
seeking past days lost in obscurity
with eyes blank as dawn's grey fog,

his face etched and soiled
framed by lifeless matted hair,
each line a scar from long ago,

an old book yellowed and faded
telling a story of unfulfilled promises
every line written by a cruel hand.

He sits motionless, patient, waiting:
no more tears no more pain
only an invisible fading shadow.


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