Bitter and resigned,
He was full-aware there remained little time,
Not enough to make amends, only enough to contemplate regrets.
The lovers now buried, quarrels forever unresolved.
And somewhere, along that thorny, rose-studded path,
The strength of a World War 2 soldier had dissolved.
He showed anyone with a pair of eyes those photos, in which he was,
Such a different creature, bearing zero resemblance to his ghost.
It was a time, in which the world was still undoubtedly ripe.
But now, his game is centered on merely killing time.
Watching the news and condemning the latest generation of youth,
Spitting on their ideals,
While uplifting his own decaying virtues.
But how he came alive-
When the songs of old revived the sound-waves of the radio,
His cataracts cleared instantly like storm clouds,
And he waved a bony finger,
In honor of the sound,
For it made him remember a time-
Before all his lovers were underground,
When there was love,
And there was music,
Composed of such beautiful sound.
Only in that stretch of time,
Is the doe-eyed boy from the photograph,
Temporarily resurrected and revived.
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This Poems Story
This poem was inspired by a WWII veteran and his nostalgia. Whenever we listened to songs of his time, it was as if the boy from the photgraphs had suddenly come back to life, hence the title. It also depicts the heavy side-effects that come with aging - the inevitability of losing those we love. As well as an inability to accept the present generation with its own particular set of quirks. If nothing else, it was an ode to the boy in the photgraph and the man he became, for whom I felt a great deal of empthy and appreciation.