This is a wonderful poem. It is both beautiful and sad, strong and fragile, emotional and sweet. It portrays old age in a way that makes it both painful and amazing, and it makes me feel a great deal of respect for you, because you have created a very good piece in this.
I love the title - it is both to the point and it still maintains a certain poetic aspect to it. The poem itself flows marvelously and we can close our eyes and imagine that old man, sitting on his chair, thinking back to the past, to what he lost, to what he gained, to what he experienced and to what and whom he loved and cherished. I almost imagined an old man's voice, filled with that wisdom that only comes from age, reading these lines in a soft, wavering voice. And it was beautiful.
Thank you for sharing this poem with all of us. I especially liked these two verses "swollen lumps in his throat remain/teardrops pouring down like blue rain"; I loved the way they flowed and the words you used to portray what you wanted to.
Only one thing, but I'm not sure of it: is it "sitting in" or "sitting on an overstuffed chair"?
This must be one of the most emotionally-driven poems I have ever read and one of the most beautiful too. You tell a story with so much pain and suffering in such an incredible way, and as poetry, at that. This made me shiver, it made me softly cry, and it made me very much sad. I am very much sorry for your friend, despite the fact that words, sometimes, are pretty meaningless.
I loved how this poem flowed, how you managed to portray these incredibly painful memories and emotions in these lines. It is a very beautiful poem, even more so because of its reality and the feeling behind it. It is, indeed, an experience most people think would never happen to them, but it is very likely that it might, one day, when we least expect it. We live in a dangerous world, where trust is sometimes overrated. Unfortunately, I say. We should be able to trust our friends, but they can still hurt us. Your friend suffered a betrayal of trust and it resulted in this horrid experience. Writing about it must be painful, but I thank you for sharing this poem with all of us.
I have only two suggestions to offer you, to make this poem even better, though it's wonderful exactly as it is, anyway.
"I barely can see a thing" [perhaps you could put the can before the barely?]
"He's doesn't care the least bit" [should be He doesn't care...]
Again, this is a beautiful piece, and so very poignant. Congratulations, from the bottom of my heart.
Regards,
Serena
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