The winter of an old man

I remember the man in black
breath seemingly frozen
falling out in steam as you
came in the last time.
Rifle hung on shoulder
old and grey though still youthful,
and the words now lost
and really, it doesn’t matter anymore
because I watched as you turned
walking away
head bowed
defeated perhaps
but I was too young to know
what really goes on in the workings
of things between adults.
You had gone, not returning again.

I hold your Bible in my hands
older now in years than when you left
and I feel nothing as I page through,
gazing at images that you as a child
may have held in awe,
with your name in the cover
gifted to you from someone I do not know
and I have no use
for your pieces of history,
for your books holding your name
and I will throw it in the box
with the other useless things
left behind when you walked away
that still linger in the empty pool
of my thoughts of you.

New moon brings letting go of much
and I release you to the winds
that carried you away
and I set my mind on other things,
the things that remain,
the things that matter
and you are gone
and you are the leaf that fell
silently and unnoticed
in shades of brown and red
as blood that sits in air
too shall fade with time
as you have
in my mind.

This photo reminds me of my father who left when I was five. While cleaning out my books, I came across two of his bibles, one a childs edition. I was told by a customer at the garage sale that I should hang onto them. I found it a funny thing for someone to say who does not know me and I told her that they mean nothing to me. They still sit out in the barn waiting for disposition. I know the idea that blood is thicker than water but I do not always believe that. Choices made cannot be made undone 43 years later no matter if you want them to (which I don’t). I feel nothing really and the right was given up so long ago to lay claim to any piece of my heart. But coming across this photo, with the new moon at hand and the move to better places, thought it appropriate to let it go.


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I am a sometimes poet on a quest to master the universe of my mind. My writing runs the gamut of nature, off beat, life and basically the world as I see it through the windows of my eyes. Welcome to my blog. Sit a spell in your big comfy armchair or favorite spot and read for a while if it suits and don't forget to leave a comment to let me know who you are and all that jazz. Looking forward to what each day brings and catch you on the flip side of the stars. Peace and blessings.

13 thoughts on “The winter of an old man”

  1. Very beautiful, and heartfelt. This letting go process is eternal, isn’t it? But you remind me of another bible and garage sale story — perhaps if I can find a way not to be angry, I can write it out as a response to this beautiful piece.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I hope it doesn’t make you angry…my story….I have my own bible, and have no need for three…letting go of two that mean nothing to me…handed down by other family members that it meant nothing to…I would rather re home than throw out….they were free to whomever needed them and having no children….no one here to read it. I would like to see your story though, peace and blessings, K

      Liked by 1 person

      1. No, not at all! It’s a whole different story. After my mom died, my stepfather sold our family bible at a garage sale, along with a lot of other stuff that should have come to us. The lady who bought it found my sister and returned it to her (all our baptisms etc were recorded in it and my sister still lived on the town she was born in). The selling of the bible goes down in our family as one of the coldest acts by a man we were all pretty fed up with for other reasons. Not sure how to turn that into a poem, but you got me thinking. Everything percolates up one way or another, don’t you think?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Yes it does my friend. It was nice that it was returned…I think the hardest thing to do with personal (to someone) effects is figuring out what to do,with them. I have my grandparents anniversary glasses with their names etched in them, they’ve lived in a box for years now, I don’t use them and my mom gave them to me as she had no use for them but then I think, if I died tomorrow, what would someone else do with them? Most likely throw them out. I am not usually a sentimental gatherer of things unless they “speak to my heart” in some way…..I think your story/poem will be lovely and I look forward to seeing it if you write it. You can always email it to me so that I’m sure to not miss it.
        Peace and beauty, K


      1. Have a nice week-end. An apology for answering so late (Internet is a one-day affair) but I’m traveling, so I don’t have much time left to open my computer. It’s like detox! 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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