Too late, an old man’s regrets.

crook

PHOTO PROMPT – © Sandra Crook

A time-beaten old man, wearily surveyed the dusty way he’d come,
His path, laboriously trodden, burnt hollow by a glaring sun.
Bare, black-boned winter trees, stood as skeletal avenues of honest intentions,
Where leather rags flapped in the breeze, from the grinning skulls and carcases
Of former lovers, and relations. Grim signposts to missed destinations;
Unrealised procrastinations.
Yellowed sheets of scribbled paper, uncompleted lines on life’s experience,
Expectations of something meaningful, but nothing left in remembrance.

I hope I come this way again and leave without regret,
I doubt I will as I know, I’ll not recognise my chance yet.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries.

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