Man of Moss

There he sits
The man whose thick matted beard is like ancient moss
Muttering past conversations aloud on the bus
We all smirk thinking he is some sort of quirk
But we all do the same, in our minds...

His hair
Stark white and scarcely distributed
White fluffy clouds randomly dotted on the sky of his mind
He gazes at the young boy sitting adjacent
Who looks outside to the world

Contrast embodies life

An old man dies, a young boy lives
To enjoy the limited space
On our planet Earth

The earth which we come to resemble

Our gnarled limbs
Knotted roots of trees jutting out of the ground
Creased faces
Cracked mud on a plain
Bursting blue veins surfacing
Ready to shoot out new life

Our slow external decay preparing us
For what we are to become

The man moves slow
Time is of importance no more
Soon his organic matter will nourish the earth
With his last exhale of carbon dioxide
He inhales it back
For now he is the plant
The tree
Standing still in time

© Lucie Semenec