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He had a little white stash and a humble speech
He had incredible posture
He effortlessly held two bags, while he talked  to me at the reception
He spoke highly of others every chance he got
His eyes, as wide as wise behind his glasses

He was 87
Born in january like me,
He drove from France to Portugal and back
He used to be a war general's driver in the army
He used to run marathons
He was of compact stature and big heart
His eyes gleamed like Carl Jung's just above his eyes as he looked up,
He smiled in 8 years old
If I believed in souls, I'd say his was pure

His name was Manuel
And he liked to share his life in words
Instinctively and without agenda,
I listened as if time was no more
He left at dawn, 800 Kms left to drive
- David Cunha
september 19, 2025
6:40 a.m.
at the hotel
An eighty-year-old child,
with cataract eyes,
like frosted windows
that still sparkle
from all the suns they’ve seen.

Wrinkles ripple across the skin
like rings of an ancient tree,
each line a story,
each fold a season survived.

We, lost in shadows of our minds,
call it depression, call it anxiety,
yet they hold storms in silence,
smiling as though pain
were just another passing guest.

Their steps may falter,
but their roots run deeper;
their laughter may sound foolish,
but it carries the weight of wisdom
we have yet to grow into.

Time has slowed their bodies,
but sharpened their souls.
We are young,
and still, somehow,
far behind them.
I just love old people. They have struggled so much still they smile bright but here we are in depression even after having multiple friends. Every time I see old people their smile and voice reminds me of my dead grandma and grandpa. I know most of us think old people are conservative yeah they might be but its not their fault they had gone through such situations they had faced a lot of betrayals they have seen people more than us so they know intentions better than us.
RT Naintial Sep 20
I've been here for 6,570 days.
a short time i suppose.
it makes my existence so minute,
such as freckles on face,
such as stars in space.
it feels so vague and absurd yet
I have stories to tell,
Families to visit too,
Friends to live for but this
This all seems temporary
It is exhausted in the moment itself
The hope, the familiarity,
The joy, the passion
Everything.
I, again sat to wonder upon my existence
Wondering how true soul is?
I'm here for 6,570 days
They were days i wanted to stop counting it
Yet the numbers refused
Michael Lord Sep 20
Pray for Death
As she walks our halls.
Pray she tap so softly
Upon each chamber door
Where angels long prepared her visit.
Pray her breath is sweet
When she whispers,
Come my love, it’s time,
And pray her hand be warm
As she guides each on the way.
And if you think Death capable of mistake,
As I do not,
But if you do,
Pray the taken Soul
All the sooner,
All the closer,
Be clasped to our Lord.
About a year ago I moved into my current home, a studio apartment in a six story, independent living, apartment complex.  The grounds are beautiful.  I look out on a long bank of Evergreens, home to a variety of birds that visit my deck for food and water.  I did not expect the age of others in the community; I think the average Is around 90 years old.  Once settled, musing on that statistic, this poem came to me.
Jasper Sep 14
an ember glides,
an ember glows,
the ember's gone.
mysterie Sep 13
why would you
prefer to live for
eternity?

everyone around you
will die at some point,
everyone you love
or loved,
would be gone.
what's the point then?

you'd grow really old,
and you'd have no one.

so why would you prefer
to live for eternity?

death is natural.
it's sad, of course.
it's miserable when we lose
someone we love dearly.

but everybody dies.

there's no point in living forever.

atleast to me,
there isn't.
date wrote: 13/9
uh okay
I am a little older now,
Neither grew taller nor became bigger,
Just a little rusted cogs here and there,
Joint with a dimmer shine of dreamy eyes.

In many places I have been
Novels and books I've read.
Yet not much have I seen,
Not far I could tread.

And then the slower my marches became,
No strength could I muster.
My thoughts were sunk in a haze by then,
No forward could I luster.

So I'm just a little old now,
Though sinking, my heart hasn't drowned now.
But it's cold here and I'm scared.
"Hope it won't be too late to ask for help
I'm afraid"
Comfortable with the unspeakable
Obnoxious unconfrontational
Augmented stolen-perch ******,

Agel, with no ‘n’ for nurture, eyes for plundered treasure
Your age isn’t elegant
Eat the ****** fruit whole with the pips, as old children are murdered, opal fires fixed in feathers...
What do i do, if i know it's not right? Eye contact is nothing and everything, if there are no words. I want to talk. We can't, so we don't. My feelings don't matter in this weird building with certain laws. Hopefully you don't want me. Hopefully you do. Hope is weird. Don't you think too? Come to me, not me to you. Where no one cares of us. Dreaming is good. They say dreams come true. What if we prove that. We prove it secretly. Go on. Just do it already. You know you want to. Me too. What would you do, if only us two, here in this place, where everyone's face, leaves it unsaid.
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