Old Scarface

Old Scarface wasn't all that old But lions tend to age When grizzled hearts turn freezing cold Yet burn with white-hot rage! He stands there, staring, fuming mad! His teeth like gnarly nails... A gentle lion now turned bad, Completely off the rails! He's lost his friends, he walks alone, He's always on his guard... His reputation's so well known That others call him hard. He fights to win and always will Until old age creeps near, Like others, he has blood to spill, From scars from ear-to-ear... Old Scarface, how I pity you... Not born a butterfly, Not born a gentle dove, it's true, Perhaps ashamed to cry... Your days are filled with fury fights, Until your days are done... Then who will care of cold delights And battles that you've won? Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2010. The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'Old Scarface'. More Stephen Gayford poems here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot.com