The Old Man
His eyes drooping,
Slouched into the couch,
Enjoying the everlasting humid breeze.
Taking a breath,
And exhaling it with narrowed eyes,
Tears formed in the corner of his sagged, wrinkled face,
He frowns,
Wiping his face,
Slowly,
With the palm of his hand.
The old mans pupils barely open,
Watching the television,
Voices blaring,
Oh, so far away,
He closes his sleepy eyes.
Letting darkness envelope him.