The Old Man

The crevices on his face told a story,

It spoke of his failures and glory.

The lines around his mouth told of laughter.

His ring promised forever after.

His breathe was slow and silent.

His eyes were glassy and dim.

The scars on his hands told of battles.

Battles he fought to win.

I don't know this man.

I don't know his life.

I don't know the losses or his strifes.

But one thing remains,

A spoken truth,

The crevices on his face told a story,

It spoke of his failures and glory.