Too many times he squandered his heart pointlessly,
Might as well have thrown it into the seas of infinity,
Battered and bruised as it was in the wilds of the world.
Suffered through may broken hearted seasons,
Many fairy tale loves false, fractured delusions.
He wondered how his heart survived them all.
In the winter of his gray-haired, crumbling years,
Withdrew his heart from pointless, romantic pursuits,
Lived out his life a hermit, his heart unbroken.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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