The Old Man

I find myself ageing and ever weary,
A stalwart vigour now transparent as my eyes are soft.
My ancient mind slowly slipping from my hold,
So assail my boisterous ear anew.
Alert my flagrant sense in vain,
Cantankerous and stubborn like a hot headed bull.
Deemed sequacious by those left in my tempers wake,
Adjourned beneath the valleys of my mind.
Swathed in memories no longer mine,
Entrenched within the fabrics of illusion and flight.
These footprints stretch ever farther to breach lines from every corner of my fading sight,
Observations melt away to become trepidations.
My hushed curiosities now wandering beasts,
If all I know is what I see,
Then these vivid dreams have all but ruined me.
Societal leeches carrying sickening ardour,
Parrying my autonomy like a blazing inferno licks a house.
As sternly as a peircing gaze this growing judgement leers at me,
And again I find myself weary and ever ageing.
The indigo sky sheathes me,
Decumbent in peace... I dream.