OLD MEN WEEP
Old men weep, in the silence and the darkness of the night: deep inside, where no-one sees. They do not weep for what is to come: for what can come, that has not been, in a long, eventful life? Old men weep for the wet sponge of Age, which wiping clean the slate of Memory, makes wraiths of old friends; old loves; old comrades long since gone to Death’s dark night. They mourn for harsh words spoken, which may never be unsaid; for love withheld and affection spurned; for slights given and hurts... Sign in to see full entry.