That baggy old man
Shuffles down the hallway
Fog and doubt
Wreathe his wrinkled smile.
 
The comb over
Tracks his mottled face
The crinkled tweed 
Swats his flaccid body
 
Now that old age
Is so deeply unforgiving.
 
 
 
Who would guess
The deep sexual longing
That once invaded his lithesome body
 
When selfishness and satiation
Coursed through 
It’s fabulous lexicon
 
The forget me not pride
Thrilling mind and limbs.
 
 
A secret world 
Where nymphs and satyrs
Lounge in fire
Drunk as the daffodils
Their luscious taste
Tender on his lips.
 
But the smack of pleasure 
Irredeemably expires 
Regret, wanting again 
That fresh vision, the tang of desire
That vaults word and song
Into stable elegance.
 
Now he rakes the coals
And see the runes:
 
 
 
Those nagging memories
The immortal fire
Blessed Cecilia’s sway
Now flickers slowly.
 
Stark in recall
Its flashing splendour
Dank as the cold night air.
 
Creation demands its pound of flesh
And weak old men
Who pray with haunted eyes:
Ewig wieder jung!
 

 

Aprl 2021
​
Gar Jones