No Pity.
Hear the anger of spoiled youth,
With their hard words.
They have no pity.
Spewing out their bile
To mangle and eschew.
We live with their forbearance.
We the old and frail.
Who once like them
Gloried in the sun,
Were gods in our day.
Now we moulder
Like staues left out.
Too long in the tooth
We peal and crack.
Split by iron frost.
Weathered by rain.
Worn down, tired, by
Untenable trials of life.
Ah but our inner lives,
There we live again as gods,
To glory in the sun.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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