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COWARDICE
by George Edward Tait
 

 

The aging men sit

Their eyes dance not

Apathy has caked their vision

Here & there an aborted glimmer

Nostalgia flickers

Fades

The present interrupts / the future interferes

The picture is there

The focus is gone.

 

The aging men talk

Words without wings

Without feet

Empty sounds struggle to rise

Fail and fall

Flashes of pomp

& pretense

Invisible banter in an exchange of pain

Mechanical tongues in a dialogue of death.

 

These aging men

Who sit in shadow

& talk in silence

Who stand in flight

& laugh in fear

They have seen the blueprint

But have refused to build

They have seen the battle

But have refused to fight.

 

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