P.J Harvey and a poem. Bitter branches.
Old men are like ancient trees. Life will expand and multiply.
They will sit on old porches and remember skeletons and blunders.
The have learned profound knowledge and the texture of the body get wore down.
Cruel nature never loses. Teaches us better to be humble than to live in a realm of
fake dreams and old victories. Wise men know. The past is lost, cannot be returned.
Resentment and old hate. Will make a sorrowful ending.
Life is disorder and confusion. Stale memory must be lost and we must falter to new hope and
dreams. Men who branches turn bitter and cold with time. Find the hallow heart and accept
living in the asylum of the loneliness.
Grandpa told me. I want no negative words in my house. Discard your anger at the door and sit
with me. Please share a story with me. Life is a portrait of many things. No perfect life son. Just
lead with love and kindness. You can’t live holding hate. Forgive and move on.
I sit by the river and I’m lagging behind. Old age and legs left me here.
Today I told my grandson like I was told by the old branches who held me up.
Don’t speak negative words. Celebrate the good days and protect the family.