MATURATION poem by Krystal Volney

I stock photo of Elderly people

 

Blessed are the Elders,

Their limbs and fevered brows need healing

From the old age that they feel,

as they experience indisposition or worse.

While they seek medicine, words of comfort,

support them through the hours with honor.

 

A saggy bend of knees, unyielding elbows,

palms turned out, prudent-Socratic perspective:

The greatest minds throughout the centuries

are foundation stones where candles burn at night

and hands are laid with understanding; pensive,

reverent amid waving Methuselah trees.

 

The adoration song plays alongside breezes,

In climactic praise shedding appreciative tears.

A grateful influence from their wisdom, well-versed,

life’s warm adventures gather under serene skies,  

showers nurture budding cushions of chrysanthemums.

 

The beams of morning come early at summer solstice

while elders drink coffee in gardens filled with rosemallows.

On the deep-delved earth, the dazzling Hippocrene!

They taught Plutarchian tales – (Character is simply habit…)

As the grass, the thicket, the wild pomegranate clustered around.

Blessed are those for being perceptive and erudite.

There on rocking chairs, where they assemble and participate

in elderly activities and social roles.

They are the roots that clutch ‘footprints on the sands of time.’

Blessed are Elders with their wrinkles, liver spots,

their grey hair, hair loss and lives captured in black and white.

Weekends in Caribbean villas,

dined in destination restaurants discussing global politics,

bring back memories of quondam times.

Like a masterpiece from Nicolaes Maes,

an old woman dozed by the fireside;

penumbras behind her form her shroud.

© Krystal Volney from second unpublished poetry book