Old Man By The Window Poem by Lucas Akkadian

Sitting here in my rocking chair
It seems not getting anywhere.
With burnt specks on my fingertips-
and singed ends in my hair.
While the bold facade moves,
I sit and barter with the fare.

To count my coups I've hung my etats
Up to dust behind the door,
As silence weeps for moments used
that are laid to rest worn bare.
But still I fathom the ends of earth,
And stir these inner waters.

So with static ringing in my ears,
And my awkward arms embracing air,
I'll wait for the red dusk to burn out
and undermine my stare.