The Tired Sage-

Sitting quietly smoking,
Sipping steaming coffee,
Across from a silent companion,
With such a simple stern stature.
His seniority signified in silver streaked hair.
The oppression of times’ toils is evident,
Within the countless impressions upon his brow.
All of his trials and chores are completed,
Conquered by his wrinkled and calloused hands.
Endless accounts resound behind his sealed lips.
Stories of pleasures and pains, success and remorse,
Locked and left in the bottoms of every weary muscle.
With his soothing still heart and complacent mind,
He recites the filled chapters of his life to no one.
He stares blankly across the room and out the window,
His lovely lonely essence, exemplified in all of humanity,
Is reflected back into his sad and sulking trance,
He awaits the Something that will incite his spirit,
Something that will truly spark the smile of his false teeth.

The Tired Sage-

Robert Dye

Portland, United States

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poem

Artwork Comments

  • Metamorphosis
  • Robert Dye
  • jianina
  • Robert Dye
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