-The Man in the Chair-
He's old & he's bitter, he's grown a hard
Reething in anguish as he lives in his hell.
He sits by the window, to watch time pass by,
And stares out the glass with jaded old eyes.
The man in the chair just sits there all day,
And his mind has all but worn away to decay.
He grumbles at things that have changed through the years,
The people & places that had once brought him tears.
He's more stubborn than that of walls made of stone,
Yet speaks with an arrogant, annoyance of tone.
He listens in strides that in-between have great gaps,
Even though he may try, still succumbs to a lapse.
He's hollowed in passions, an old waterless cave,
To his maliced old mind; a victim... a slave.
There's only one place that he finds solitude,
Imprisoned inside, behind eyes' attitude.
He's rash to be brash, always quick with his thoughts,
Judgements, denials and the hatred he wroughts.
He scorns & he scoffs and he points at the world,
More-so at own failures, deep-seeded & curled.
Each day that may pass, he's consumed with a thirst,
As a wraith or a revenent; chained, shackled & cursed.
He's hungry for things that he swears he should be,
The successes of others, that's hes just never seen.
He's ridden with pride, much for his own good,
And he rarely says sorry for the times that he should.
He tries and he tries to improve everyday,
But he's lost in the wilderness he's found on his way.
He's lived for so long for a time short on earth,
Rapidly aging since the day known as birth.
He's mis-guided in views that he once thought he knew,
And has been proven wrong, with things tried & true.
As vines that collect new places to grow,
He still pushes on, tangled, tied like a bow.
I feel pity for him & perhaps it is fair,
That one day I'll look back... and get out of this chair...