This is the second rethink for Old Age. It was more of a brainstorm. I tried to think a little more specifically from the main character’s point of view. This is pretty heavily romanticized, and the interruptions aren’t quite as negative as I’d originally thought the poem should have. I’ll probably start looking to work this and the first rethinking into the original drafts to see if any particular direction comes to me. It all seems a little unfocused, and although I don’t mind that too much personally, it’s probably not good for the work.
I also noticed that even now, I almost always default to four line stanzas for drafts and brainstorming. I wrote most everything in quatrains when I was young, and it has persisted in some form to this day. I don’t have a problem deviating from that format, but when I’m just thinking loosely, it’s typically in four line thoughts. Creatures of habit.
She was beautiful.
He could remember every line of her face.
She was young and old and in between.
She was perfect.
A constant buzzing tugged at his attention,
As he bathed in her memory.
It finally broke his reverie.
They had questions to ask–stories to tell.
They worshiped him as he worshiped her.
He was accorded honor for the wisdom of years,
But insulted with insinuated frailty.
He could hear and see and think yet.
They spoke in muted shouts,
Fearful they may go unnoticed.
Poking and prodding to ensure attention.
All subtle seeming save in his eyes and ears.
Unintended they force bliss aside.
It flits peripheral yet substantial out of reach.
He fights to reach it . . . devote himself to it.
They aren’t satisfied.
He must respond.
It will buy a few moments.
A nod, a word, a look to gain so much.
It is a small price to pay; he pays.
They seem satisfied,
So he leaps fully, recklessly into the abyss once more.
Drowning in her once more,
Woefully unaware for a time at least.