The Last of Lines


I stand there by the old man that held my hand as I walked down the coast,

The old man that never hesitated to put a grumpy face toward me as I run away in haste.

I stand there by the old man that never failed in his sense of hospitality,

And here I grew up wondering where was this so called “humanity”?

I stand there by the old man that I found myself rooted within,

One, who the entire town respected that he was so ‘in’ to his village.

I stand their by the old man as hundreds of whispers and gossips fill the room,

The voices of such ghosts in daylight not as loud as the continuous ‘beep’ from the Electrocardiograph.

I stand here by this old man that gave life to my mom,

Holding on to his life and my hand reminding me where I was from.

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