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Those Old Men
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TITLE (EDIT)
Those Old Men |
DESCRIPTION
A serious theme to ponder about, as we become may become the old men I describe in the first part of the prose..
[424 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Spiritual |
AUTHOR
Charles F Kane |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[August 2006] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4)
Loving Gloria (Poetry) Ugly love.. [111 words] [Erotic]
Night Of The Courtesane (Short Stories) A Dream that's more than a dream. Story with a twist. [1,243 words] [Erotic]
Runnin' For Freedom (Short Stories) A shortstory about Charlie and his quest for freedom. [3,800 words] [Literary Fiction]
The Bukowski Curse (Poetry) A Cynical, dark view on the world. [108 words] [Literary Fiction]
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Those Old Men
Charles F Kane
There’s nothing
more lonely than the old men, sitting in the park, dropping breadcrumbs to the
birds while staring blankly ahead to nothing at all. They sit there just
pondering the lost years, lost opportunities, lost wishes and hopes, moments in
time which will never come back.
It truly amazes me that they stay sane
as long as they do, these lonely men with their old tweed hats, ragged ol’
suits, wallets filled with their pensions, dusts and near-forgotten memories in
the shape of crumpled and worn photos. They never do smile, these old men, but
they never cry either.. They just sit there, in some kind of frozen slowmoving
paralysis as if the world moves too fast for them to see.
For them we are
just blurs passing them by, as insubstansiable as whisps of wind in the forests
they maybe walked in while they were young so many years ago. Are they waiting
for God, or heaven where they sit? Or are they hoping that some of the blurs
they see becomes a human being, stopping to just say “hello”? Maybe they have no
hope left at all, resigning to the torment of being left aside as yesterdays
news or yesteryears rubbish.. Being recycled in death, maybe becoming one of
those many speeding insubstansials in their next life.
One of those old
men may be us someday, worn out by time and toil, with knackered knees and backs
bent, eyes worn out by seeing too much, ears tired of listening, no speech at
all except silent sobs and sighs of timeless pain. Maybe sitting on pubs or
bars, drinking beer or sipping on scotch or whisky.
As we get older and
older, do we also get more and more frail, I wonder.. Do we get like the old men
sitting in the park? Do we get as lonely and lost in our lives, that we just
slowly and dimly walk around with no direction at all? Just dragging our
slipperclad feets along the floor, making noises of whisps as we go, with
needles in our arms and bags of clear liquid feeding us medicines or
intravenous nutricion as we no longer can eat by ourself? Becoming just ghosts
of our former selves, being coldly and methodically sent around from our room to
wherever we should be at every time by unemotional near-robotical cold and
cynical wardens, becoming prisoners in our own old frailty?
I don’t
know, I certainly hope we don’t.. But it is something worth pondering isn’t
it?
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2005 Charles F Kane |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2006 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1857
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