Reflections of a Boomer

ALONE

by David Palethorpe

I saw the old man
Sitting on a bench,
Clutching his glass,
Smoking sweet grass.

Tired and dejected,
Sad and rejected,
Cast on the scrap heap,
He sits all alone.

No future ahead,
His years long spent,
The flame of his youth
Now cold, now bent.

The world moves fast,
He moves no more,
Just watches the tide
From a distant shore.

Yet in his stillness
There lies a grace—
The weight of a journey
Time can’t erase.

The laughter is gone,
The tears remain,
But both are chapters
Of life’s refrain.

And so he waits,
Not lost, not found,
Till silence calls
Without a sound.

No bitterness now,
No need to pretend—
He has walked his road,
And it nears its end.