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For When I Am Old Time

jwhhobbs22
May 6
1 min read

I’m dying

The hard spots at the throat

And pages of old time

Show me

As I make silent words

Gentle thoughts

To myself.

I feel I might

Rise

Never stopped dreaming

Ever stopped cherishing

And as I write

More than breathing

And ask, for why

I’m “dying”

Troubled, fascinated

With affection I begin

To truly live.

Not a note is lost

Or a tear

They live in pages

In fond memories

Pictures and photographs

In fond memories

The timeless ache

Of the heart for one another

They are all somewhere

So deep I may not find

Yet, as with love

I will take the answer’s hand

In the end.

By J.W.H. Hobbs.

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