decay

the most i can wish for, is the slowly ways of old age.

to move with the breeze, with sway, like an ancient tree.

to smile with lines that run on for years, showing each path of every tear, earned and then turned with the coming of winter.

the weary smile graying with folds of laughter.

clothes worn from bent limbs and harder days, now passed

how i wish to be old, and as grey as the sky.

eyes twinkle under a sagging brow, as the waning moon, in its wisdom,  reflects upon the sea.

to be compared to stone, that has been heated by the summers sun

to smell of time

what is left of hair, ragged as the wool wrapped over the leaning torso.

crooked fingers that hope to hold a brush and work a pen, 

old poems for old lovers, colours that shine brighter than the days of youth with its constant change, as the leaves of season.