The old man looked out of the window...
He could feel everything in him easing away, relaxing. Slowing down as the train sped up. His very bones, brittle like that of a bird, seemed to melt inside him. He watched his life pass by him in flashes of colours and emotions and lighting. His tired eyes sparkled for some of the views and clouded when faced with others. The papery skin of his face smiled and frowned. His weathered hands clenched and relaxed. A lifetime of contrasts and reactions.
For the first time in a long time he didn't feel as though he was clinging to anything. He didn't feel the cold fog in his brain. The fog that made his words stick to the roof of his mouth and his forehead clammy when he couldn't remember something he should. In fact he remembered everything, more vividly than ever before, and he finally realises how lucky he's been.
He is a child again, loved, scolded, teased. His mind full of more ideas and imaginations than he will come to think possible. His days filled with fields and woods and monsters and adventures.
He is a young man once more, in love, in pain, in love again. He is reckless and foolish as all young men are. He is holding her tight, but unsure and nervous in her company. Something he hasn't been for nearly sixty years now. He is kissing her again for the first time. And the second time... and the third... and fourth... and the one thousandth time. He still feels like kissing her a thousand times more.
He is a soldier again. More terrified than ever before. Killing and dying, and living by the skin of his teeth. Clutching the memory of home close to his chest. Hoping that one day he will return. He is choking on pain, drowning, fading. Convinced that his time has come.
But he rises in a bed, with her at his feet, and he is no longer scared.
And the years speed by in a shower of church bells and car trips and long nights in bed. The cries of children join the cacophony, followed by their footsteps. Their laughter. And his life is full and loud and he wouldn't have it any other way. Then suddenly it's empty again, but he still wouldn't change a thing. Church bells ring again, children fill the house once more, laughter followed by peace, but not a second of regret.
And then he is alone. Surrounded by people. But without the person that gathered them to him.
And he longs to kiss her a hundred thousand times more. But he can't.
He is old and creaky and weary again. He knows he's lived enough, and as he boards the train that day he is eager to return to where it all began.
He is scared.
But he's been through worse, he's survived a war, he's survived kids, he's survived love and even heartbreak. He's sure as hell surviving death...
As he reaches the end of his journey the window grows darker, embracing the defeat of the day. Hoping for an even more beautiful night.
YOU ARE READING
31 Days Of Imagination (Poetry)
PoetryI set myself a challenge for this month to write a new thing every day. This is the outcome, I hope you like it. I will be adding stuff as I go along. NOTE- PLEASE DON'T JUST READ THE FIRST POEM IN THIS SERIES, MAYBE CHOOSE ONE AT RANDOM! :)
