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Old Man Bowed in Church

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

  Old Man in Church.

Old Man in Church.

I've searched, walked, crawl, even begged strangers for a photo, painting, maybe a hurried sketch of an old man who has lived all that he wants to live. An old man who is now torn, forlorn, and is out of focus with daily life. Maybe in his stride, he was a soldier with men in his charge. Or he might be an explorer searching for hidden lands at large.

Or just maybe he is just an inexact number of society in any rotation of our earth, who is mostly faceless, nameless, and riches gone. Only his breath in his lungs he bows to his God. Sadness has made him a Squeer, a muted foe and vacant friend. But when every sundown has been tallied, he manages the awesome, eye-striking task to walk. That's his payment for years of obscure devotion. Walking: a meanial paycheck given by those whose righteousness could not allow dirt to be on their hands. Just his. Sad as it is, he breaths a counted breath. He is even now viewing a compassionate death draped in velvet shroud. His only dust will come from his grave shoveled down.

He never asked for a wife. But vowed in his heart that if one were risen, he would seek the love of the female voice, form, and mystery. He spent it all. And caught none. Out of her purity and pity, she is waiting to walk in a long, silken dress with matching veil to gently place a moist red rose upon his once-prideful chest. Oh, don't be sorry for the old man here. Here sits a soul of means and a history unseen--the parts only God can read. Only handed down to elderly men like this one. You may know one or two. I do.

Yes, two. Two old guys whom I saw each sunny and rainy day of my working life and before I ceased from chasing a pocketful of money to fill someone's wish, I stopped one day and just listened to the old guys to learn what they would say. Amazingly enough, both never spoke with lip or mouth, but with eyebrows arched; eyelids closed and if anything they might muster a sad sigh from worn-out lungs, but they spoke in eloquence. I was the one so ignorant in their presence.

By now he sits. Alone, alone. No wishes to make. No promises to repay. Just his spirit and his Creator in intimate dialogue that only flesh can hear as static and rumbled nouns. But he still knows about his Creator and the Creator has known him since birth--felt his pains, shed tears when work garnered no gains and yet the Creator stood inside of his being. Young and old. No one is loving kindness could ever suspect that maybe this old man was meant for nothing. Lived for secrecy and gave all his hands had made.

Just maybe.

© 2017 Kenneth Avery


Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on December 07, 2017:

Dear Ann,

Thank you. I consider you a True Friend and I Appreciate

the comment.

I am thinking (now) as 2017 slowly becomes history to just

slow down almost to a crawl and let life happen to me.

You ever feel this way?

Just my age. Oh, I celebrated my 64th birthday Nov. 27 and it came and went like a vapor in the noon sun.

But . . .until later. You be safe and keep in touch.

Ann Carr from SW England on November 19, 2017:

Thank you. We don't have Thanksgiving here but I hope yours is happy too and that you also have a merry Christmas.


Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on November 18, 2017:

Dear Ann, My Good Friend,

Thank you Much for the very nice comment(s), but may I be bold for a moment?

Your comments serve to not only encourage me, but also act as a vehicle that enables me to dig into my emotional system which is made of mazes and dark doors that hide even more things that I may take my time in sharing.

I am beholding to you, Ann.

Happy Thanksgiving and a Merry Christmas to you and yours.


Ann Carr from SW England on November 18, 2017:

Very melancholy, Kenneth. I like the musings on this old man. Who knows what he's gone through or what he thinks? But then we can surmise much but rarely do we see the truth in others. Bowing before God, he can just bare his soul and let others think what they will.

Thought provoking and most interesting.


Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on October 27, 2017:

Hi, Gypsy Rose Lee,

(or may I call you, "GRL?") Just kidding.

Thank you for your support and friendship. It means a lot.

I am totally sincere.

Peace to you.

Write me anytime.

Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on October 27, 2017:

Hey, Kari,

Hope that you are doing well.

Mundane? I feel (this) way many times--and feel like that I am only going around in circles while God just sits on the edge of eternity on His throne while I am crying out to Him. Maybe the answer is within pieces like this.

I wish you would comment on this last question.

But your life IS NOT mundane.

And thank you for being so sweet .

Write soon.

Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on October 27, 2017:

Greetings, RoadMonkey,

You are so right--I have used some of van Gogh's paintings from Wikimedia Commons and if I had only thought to look there . . . but I am not knocking the photo that I chose.

It says something to me.

Write me anytime--and have a sweet day/night.

Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on October 27, 2017:

Hi, Silva,

Thank you so very much. I know that I am guilty of saying "thanks" a bit too much, but I cannot help it. I love my followers and friends.

Write me anytime.

Gypsy Rose Lee from Daytona Beach, Florida on October 26, 2017:

Most inspirational. We must always keep the faith. Blessings to you.

Kari Poulsen from Ohio on October 24, 2017:

Your story makes me sad. We all have purpose, even in our mundane lives. But, not all of us get to see what our purpose was.

RoadMonkey on October 24, 2017:

You might find photos of what you are looking for in the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh. His paintings would now be in the public domain. There's one called 'At eternity's gate'. He also did a lot of sketches.

Silva from Los Angeles on October 24, 2017:

Wonderful prose poetry. Thanks.

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