In the Gloaming of life's last era <br />A futile finger in times dike <br />both wicks ashen gray <br />quiet comfort leers on passers by <br /> <br />daydreams Peer back to A squandered youth <br />background chatter from A lucid adolescent <br />The quiet breath belongs to A cherry picked memory <br />A romance of scorn far too weak to rise <br /> <br />grounded leaves from summer, now colored crinkle by <br />clinch and neglect winters tone, toward the suns caress <br /> <br />Confidence, views A stage of first impression judgments <br />Grin, The farce of an awkward ages glance to pity the aged <br />born too late to have wonders of their own<br /><br />Ken Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/benched/
