Here exists a man of age, whose body is lumber & smells of sage, his bones creak like fallen birch, his skin wrinkled like dried up earth.
May he soon rest for his stumps grow weak, his body is rotting, his soul is meek. The earth below pulls him under, he will soon die, his mind asunder.
But so is every man who is born, meant to deteriorate, meant to be forelorned. The seeds he sows will see the next day, and his memories will be kept safe in their stay.
#poetry #lineart