the Old Man


Not a people person
His photos always that way.
Thus, the beginning of trite and new…
And, admiring life on display.

‘You are just like your old Man.’
Well, maybe that had been so.
Yet, I did, as always, as told.


‘There is clutter all around us,’ I would say.

Or, so I thought.

Looking for praise.

Seeking love.

And, love…just cannot be sought.

I had such an infantile belief in something risen.

The old Man raised me on what was bought.

What a narrative.

Encased in the woods.

As I have always wanted to be.

The difference being.

He chose to follow the conformity of a covered bridge.

While I choose the shadiness of a fallen tree.


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