PHOTO PROMPT – © Sandra Crook
A time-beaten old man, wearily surveyed the dusty way he’d come,
His path, laboriously trodden, burnt hollow by a glaring sun.
Bare, black-boned winter trees, stood as skeletal avenues of honest intentions,
Where leather rags flapped in the breeze, from the grinning skulls and carcases
Of former lovers, and relations. Grim signposts to missed destinations;
Yellowed sheets of scribbled paper, uncompleted lines on life’s experience,
Expectations of something meaningful, but nothing left in remembrance.
I hope I come this way again and leave without regret,
I doubt I will as I know, I’ll not recognise my chance yet.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries.
10 thoughts on “Too late, an old man’s regrets.”
You have not missed your destination, a writer you be, I feel sorry for the trees.
Thank you, Michael
There’s some fabulous wording in this. Beautifully written.
Respect. Do I detect a performance poet? That piece would be so good to read out aloud to an audience. Bravo.
Thanks that’s a great compliment. That’s made my day. Cheers
This is great, and very sad when only regrets remain and no joyful memories.
Thanks I’m glad you liked it.
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This is almost poetry. Nicely done.