Poetic Interlude: These Old Men

These old men

Eyes ancient as mountain-sides

I watched them

Race down hills

Through parks and alleys

In streetcars

With no desires left

But for the easy wicked breeze

Blowing all that grey

That wizened sign of age

A halo of sheer elation

As they go screaming, racing, chasing

After nothing but to go faster

And have no limitations

© Ren Warom 2009

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