27 January 2013
An old man walked long, Followed a road his son walked, before him. A lonely, desolate road, lined with dead trees, old oak, hawthorn. He kept his head down, watching his boots, laces undone, Holes in the toes, souls loose, souls damaged and weak, His arthritic feet hurting him, demanding he abandon this, this pilgrimage, this passage Into loneliness; limitless pain for An unknown outcome.
A crow cackles, ruffles its feathers, Perched on a branch, head cocked, Mildly amused, having never Seen a man walk like this; So slow, so methodic, like a defeated beast, injured, melodic, seeking Repentance in the repetition of footstep after footstep, footstep after footstep, Like deaths rhythm.
The old man passes the crow, and does not acknowledge him. Does he know what I am? Is he blind as well as dumb? The old crow shits in disgust, defecates it's distaste, in a white, sickly mess, Which lands unremarkably in the displaced mud of the footstep where the man's soul trod, And his son trod before him.
Dusk comes, and with it rain. The old man's coat is an old man's coat, stained with all the hardships of an old man's life, Not warm. Not dry. Not in anyway protective, But it is his. It is his in every way. And it does have a hood to keep out the rain, But the old man chooses not to wear it, so resolute, so focused on this road, so clear on this route.
Night falls. Hard. The old man keeps walking, but his old feet are bone soaked, and his old heart moans at every beat, And the night beasts watch eagerly, footstep after footstep, footstep after footstep, dinner on dead legs.
The old road closes in on him, darkly Claustrophobic, with leaning, crooked branches stroking him, teasing him, as he passes, but the Old man keeps looking down, his Thoughts are far from this path, Wandering nirvana, pondering a paradise so better than his past life.
An owl hoots. A wolf howls. A moon appears to mock him, The trees whisper words that would be shocking, If the old man was listening, but He isn't. He's not deaf, but it appears he has Deaf ears hearing nothing except, His son at ten years old coming home, one day, Long ago, on his own, down this road, Whistling, singing the song the old man sung to him, Every night of his life until he died, 'till his son suddenly left him;
Hush little baby, don't say a word Pappa's gonna buy you a mockingbird
footstep after footstep
If that mockingbird don't sing Pappa's gonna buy you a diamond ring
footstep after footstep
If that diamond ring turns brass Pappa's gonna buy you a lookin' glass
footstep after footstep
If that lookin' glass gets broke Pappa's gonna buy you a billy goat
At night, in the dark, on his own. Coming home.
If that billy goat don't pull Pappa's gonna buy you a cart and bull
A crow on a dead branch of a dead oak, watching him. And a man too.
If that cart and bull turns over Pappa's gonna buy you a doggie named Rover
An owl hoots. A wolf howls, and a dead man stalks.
If that dog named Rover don't bark Pappa's gonna buy you a horse and cart
A knife flashes, slashes, kills fast.
If that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town
The old man whimpers the tune, tears streaming down his old face, Lined with old years of loss and pain, and Steadfast determination to carry on, which has now Gone. All gone.
'Billy. I love you. So much. I miss you. So dearly. I'll be with you soon, son. I'll be with you soon.'
footstep after footstep following you.
I am an old man, walking long. Alone.
Old Man Walking Long • Opuss № I