VISIONS OF YOUTH

Walking through the darkened hallway,
I pass a dimly lit room.
Staring back at me through the gloom,
I see him, not so far away.

He could be my twin,
Nay, he is much older than I.
Gray beard, droopy eyes,
What a hard life his has been.

We look at each other for awhile,
Ne'er a word is spoken.
I turn to leave once the glance is broken.
I wondered what was thought as he looked upon my smile.

As I started to leave him where he stood,
I turned back and saw that he too had turned to go
With shoulders sagging and head held low
He had turned to look at me.




Poetry by Mark Rogers
Read 555 times
Written on 2007-02-26 at 01:33

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kid
wow nice story. i pity the 2nd character in this poem. Nice poem i respect it
2007-02-26


Individuality
ah time, it takes us all in the end, we have no escape, a good poem.
2007-02-26