How the aging world mock,
The new as weak,
Whilst the old lay fallen,
On paths the young never seek,
Is it mystery when the thespians
Feels vacant and so weep,
To know they build kingdoms
But not a brick can they keep.
That everything held dear,
Shall be lost to those eyes;
Life won in the mud,
Now lost to the skies,
It’s the way of the world,
And every hour has her time,
The copper in the end,
Was gold in it’s prime.
for more from this deep thinker, click here: https://thehumananvilblog.wordpress.com/
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Published by grumpygorman
I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...
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