Poem of the week

An old man in old shoes is walking through my mind
I can hear his thoughts and somewhere far in despair
he's willing to end the game of hope
he's willing to tie the one last rope

In the far lands, I can swim on earth
I can hear your eyes and pretending
Doesn't bring your nearer to my truth
and an endless talk, doesn't bring the ending

An old man is sitting on a tree
I can see his thoughts and hear his voice
an old man is sitting on a tree
he's so wise and entirely free

Who is in the mirror
who is my vice
who is my habit
who is the dealer
the talking rabbit

I've got shrooms, I can shrink and grow
and still I am not in neverland
I am still here, my only friend
here in the world, where only an old man
can be truly free and own his own destiny