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A poem

Another poem of mine, not the best I’ve written, so any helpful criticism or comments will be appreciated.

Lain deep in an old man’s mind, But still not changed by the passage of time, Beyond the dust-covered books And the ever-ticking rhythm of the old clock, Await his memories.

By the dimly-lit room and the grime-covered window, Sat on the old leather chair A face,weathered and grey, Worn by the years and changed by his past And not looking into the future.

The old fire burns throughout the day Yet its warmth is barely felt, In a place where nought but what has already been, Is the only existance For those who dwell there.

Pulling out a book of meaningless words, He closes his eyes and reads, Away from the place neglected and aged, And into the eternity of a bygone past.

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Answer #1

I think its great the way it is…

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