Poetry – Elder Cry

I am tired

My eyelids heavy

My lips are raw

My fingers crack.

 

I have gills

Not lungs inside me

Breath far stretched

Held for sea salt.

 

I feel my bones

Under this cotton

Layers weighted

In baby pink.

 

I had tall wings

Now cut and taped down

Itch paper skin

Feathers plucked.

 

Tin can laughter

Staccato sounds

For dimming eyes

And withered minds.

 

Where grey pavement

Meets green scrub corner

Sky vertical

Stare in-between.

 

The more I look

The bigger it grows

It fills the cracks

And tears the sides.

 

They pity me

And I throw it back

They think their years

Are painted gold.

 

Oh my young ones

Fear not the end state

You should envy

You should hope.

 

In my brown chair

With boiled shoes and teeth

I have left this

World of held voices.

 

I see the split

Of the universe

Not on my way

But already there.