Floating Coins...

His pleading goes hoarse...
As laboured pride crumbles...
But his senses still prevail...
On the fortune he never owned.

The young ones take their time...
He never left his treasure.....
Their wobbly place in life...
They knew better than to call him near...

He moans his invisible losses...
A trade-off he signed long ago.
Now he's resigned in the consequences...
Dusky thoughts as he eyes it all...


Surrender he can't...
Surrender he couldn't...
The winds sound callous...
Who could he call now?
Who would call him now?

The old man sits by the curb...
Why is he lost in amusement?
A few floating coins his only turf.

Never bemoaned his zero losses...
Being resigned in his deeds...
He's amassed all of his grudges...
And polished up his speech...

The young ones rush forward...
He hugs them in tears...
Their solid presence to his life
Brought down many unforgivable fears...

Surrender he can't...
But surrender he would...
The winds sound softer...
HE would call him now...
Who could weaken him now?

Questions will have to be answered...
Nows not the time to begrudge...
Time has a way of weakening sorrows...
Nothing so clever as Retrospect.

Nothing else floats so frequently by...
As those unfullfilled dreams...
Darkness provides a cushion of sorts...
Stars aren't so reliable it seems.
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