30 days of poetry: day 5


old men, he said, are meant to be wise
wept quietly in his unsteady hands
old, frail, wrinkled with tears of pain
"I have nothing to give to you," he said slowly
between sobs, he wept his years away

"I have nothing to give to you"

that is quite untrue, old man
I’m afraid I cannot accept that premise
there are far too many roads untraveled
far too many melodies I’ve yet to learn
tears catch in graying beards, he wept

and truthfully, Coelho let me down with theories about the universe 
he pursed his lips, hid away his smile
and truthfully, good omens mask away behind evil and nothing has conspired to give me what I seek
and some days I feel weak with the weight of words far too elaborate for a child
none of this ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ nonsense, I reject that theory outright
his lips curled slightly, “I thought you might,” he replied

"you do the best with what you’ve been given," he admitted
"some men are philosophers, authors, others are merely men
with thoughts far too profound to voice so eloquently, words mean little to those who are wise
I despise concepts that belittle the wisdom of children, only the pure don’t tell lies”

and Aristotle matters more than I, surely, but happiness is not an end
or a meaning or purpose, what we spend can help purchase
a means towards salvation, rather than a destination
we must all strive to arrive at something beyond the surface

"it’s a means towards survival," he quietly submitted
"what point is there in a life where joy has been omitted?
it’s as though God has rewarded us gifts for enduring our burdens with such grace, none of us know for sure the next time happiness will be embraced
I admit, to that chase I have never fully committed”

tell me more

"I have little to say"

tell me something

"who you seek to be tomorrow
can exist today”

tell me nothing

"that’s all I have, anyway"

you are wise, old man
you are wise.