Old Blood

Old Blood

Movin Slow

inside my

Old Pipes,

Old Veins,

thick with

that Deep

Dark Blood

Flowin Slow

Pumped an Pushed

along by this

Old heart,

Old Hands Shakin

Tired of Gettin

Older every instant

Don’t get

Out much,

Stuck here in

this Old

House with

Old books

an Old ghosts

Murkin in

the corners

an along

Those Old

Wooden stairs,

Old halls,

an Old


Old Walls

Where the

Old black

Eyes of

Old, Dead

friends an Brothers

follow me,

watchin me

in everythin

I doin

with those

Old smiles

that ended

Long ago.

Old Blood an

Shakin Hands,

the whole worl

jus what I

can see

from Behind

Old moth-eaten’d

drapes and

old screens,

Quiverin Knuckles achin’

as they

wrap round

m knife

And A

final cry

that comes

out Old

quiet an dry

Nothin’s the

Same an I’m

the last

one left

O that

Old generation

‘xtink like


Old History

writin down

in some

Old Book,

Not offin read,

just lyin

forgotted on

the shelf,

collekin dust

Sittin in

a pool O

Old Blood



in an

old Chair in

an Old House

Thinkin how

Long’ll it

be ‘fore

some-un finds

One Old

Dead Man

who already


years Ago


About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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