When I’m old
And not yet withered.
In a cranked shelter, slightly bitter
My skin beginning to fold

My companions and house mates
Have disintegrated to immobile.
Memories on my wall…

When Always tics,
Sometimes tocs
And Often strikes!
I shall dive into a place down nostalgia.

Relive or revive memories,
Experiences and lives
I was convinced would never end;
I was convinced should never end

Beautiful faces that tell salient stories
That only memories could truly experience;
That only the present could whole-heartedly understand.

I’ll feel the glistening of the edges of my eyelids
And surface of my eyes.
I’ll know tears are begging to slide out
But, as my hands dole out my story
To offspring’s,
A smile, instead, will be victorious.

Past troubles won’t seem so troublesome,
But adventuresome.
I’ll know my time, my mark on Earth, won’t be gone.
And a purpose that always remained untold,
(No matter how much I was told, and told)
Would be deemed completed.

@sircharlesthepoet