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In the twilight hours
in the life of a man
when the spirit sours
as it must, 'cause it can
there comes realisation
of the yin and the yang
and the urgent sensation
that the song that he sang
through the decades of strife
and the nights full of bliss
when the meaning of life
was enshrined in a kiss
as he looks to the past
to a million decisions
and to those who were cast
in odd roles without vision.
And he takes a deep breath
as the brilliance sinks in
that the sight of one's death
and the Reaper's sly grin
wakes the force of a need
to convey to the masses
that the truth shows indeed
we are ignorant asses
though we think that we know
as we strut our stuff
and proceed with the flow
always clever and tough.
But the youngsters are like
all ignorant fools
as they say 'take a hike',
and embrace their dumb rules
seeing war as exciting
have no concept of love
act as if constant fighting
was ordained from above.
Of the three score and ten
only five are enlightened
though this talks about men
as in women a heightened
sense of softness resides.
Let us look at a mother
she's a woman who hides
not her love for another
she will patch up and mend
and at night fluff your pillow
she will walk as your friend
to the lovely old willow.
So, the gist of the thought
of my own twilight years
is that those who have fought
the occasional tears
over all the missed chances
and all the spilled hate,
over silly old dances
and pathetic debate
will have learned that a mother
is the one who will say
'please be kind to each other,
let your world be okay.'
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: mother, women, hate, war, woman, kiss, truth, friend, song, death, life, world, dance
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