At 65

(Our own reality is often starved
for our acceptance and love.)

He stares at him:
the man in the mirror–
the face indelibly marked
by time’s unrelenting crusade:
crown sparsely feathered;
beard coarse and grizzled;
brows sprouting feelers,
defiant and brash.

Their eyes lock for a moment
in the silence that grieves;
but still he resists concession,
still he withholds
the compassionate nod.

© 2009 Dennis Ference

20 thoughts on “At 65

  1. Wise, sensitive writing, Dennis, and very touching.
    i love “crown sparsely feathered” and “brows sprouting feelers,…”
    great visuals there and ones i can identify with totally.
    Kudos!

  2. Beautiful images. brows sprouting feelers – what a poetic description. The entire poem captures poignantly that tipping point in life we all push right up to, but back away from – staying isolated and frustrated. It really is a dance. Well done.

  3. The tonal control in this poem is a perfect reflection of those sort of Prufrock-ian moments when bemusement hides quiet desperation. Wonderful.

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