Worn eyes:
Like dried leaves my hands are feeling the years.
No tears left in the crying jar from lost hopes and lost fears.
Becoming complacent with time and the years.
Growing numb with my words falling upon deaf ears!
The knowledge is mine but I play dumb at the game.
To keep them at a hum! Or is it just to drive me insane?
Seeing the past I hope it will not repeat my heart is tattered. worn and beat.
Looking into there eyes the gleam is gone.
There is not sex appeal just a old worn out song.
So as my back tweaks and I slouch over.
I will be the dirty old man but just a day older.
By Scott baker
