There are no old men

There are no old men

Sandcastles or beached whales

Just a few broken shells

Left behind

Once spirits have flown

High across the water

Past the dreaming place

Over the rim

Of the world’s end

Where rainbows meet

To form a circle

Dancing feet beat out a rhythm

On the stretched skin

Of ancient drumheads

Everything bounces

When you’re naked

There will always be the calling

Waiting to be heard

A simple song

A lullaby of past love

Sweetly singing

Lulling all to sleep

Even those that once were giants

Fall victim to its cadence

Peeling back the layers

Into the deep

Of unearthed memories

The vastness of the cache

The surge at its release

Into the void

Where all the history makers wait

To add another sentence

To the message board

So many bylines

But every one a story

Of a young thing

Who never knew

The panic of living was to be

Nothing more than

A headlong pursuit

Of growing old