His saggy eye lids and rough, <br />weathered skin, <br />remind me of a rainy day. <br />Dark blue eyes as cold as the Atlantic chill me to the bone. <br />The brown spots and dead skin patches on his bald head, <br />are like battle wounds, <br />which he has received over the years. <br /> <br />His unsteady hand shyly grasps his sable cane. <br />His three lonesome limbs longing for their missing brother, <br />taken from them many years ago on a beach in France. <br /> <br />Blinding gold medals and silver stars, <br />overshadow the Purple Heart, <br />but do not hide it. <br />His navy blue suit with yellow lining and a flag on his shoulder, <br />immediately grabs my attention, <br />and drags me across the sandy memorial. <br /> <br />Quietly standing on a ledge, <br />overlooking the old battlefield, <br />gloomy tears gently rolling down his face, <br />as he re-lives that horrible day.<br /><br />Josh Bashline<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-old-man/
