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Janine Hunter


Hamilton, ON, CA

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Memories of the past in his eyes


Janine Hunter

He heard when he was spoken to,
But when he speaks no one hears.
He saw all that was written,
But written works are extinct.
He touches the flowing hair of a child,
But baldness plagues his skull.
He can smell the fragrant flowers in the yard next door,
But next door is no more than the city dump.
He can taste the sweetness of the summer sun ripened strawberry,
But the only thing on the plate is a clean napkin.
He remembers the childhood memories,
But not his past.

Old age has stolen him from his family,
His head glistens in the light from the bedside lamp.
The children have all grown and their children don't even know who he is.
The old man used to spend his retirement time in the park painting,
or on the step telling a neighbourhood kid some far fetched story from his past.

Now the withered frame of a man is blind, deaf and mute.
They place him at the window and he tries with all of his strength to remember,
But he just can't.
It hurts too much to live this way,
So, laying back in his bed he awaits the call of eternal peace and happiness.

The man is gone,
and forever silenced.
Good-bye sir.
May you rest in peace.

Dedicated to all of you that have forgotten a lost one, or perhaps lost a forgotten one.