David Cauldwell

The Forgotten Elder

from 381.91
The Forgotten Elder.jpg

The Forgotten Elder

from 381.91
  • Prints on high gloss, high quality photo paper using archival inks

  • From a LIMITED EDITION of 22 (per size)

  • FREE shipping

  • Signed and numbered Certificate of Authenticity

  • Print comes with its own unique poem (click ‘More Info’), printed on high quality photo paper, A4 sized, which could be hung next to the print

  • Print only, not framed

  • Commissions available (info@davidcauldwell.com)

More Info

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  • Prints on high gloss, high quality photo paper using archival inks

  • From a LIMITED EDITION of 22 (per size)

  • FREE shipping

  • Signed and numbered Certificate of Authenticity

  • Print comes with its own unique poem (click ‘More Info’), printed on high quality photo paper, A4 sized, which could be hung next to the print

  • Print only, not framed

  • Commissions available (info@davidcauldwell.com)

THE FORGOTTEN ELDER

When did I become so invisible
That the people around only want to discard me?
That the people around think I’m a nuisance
Because I walk too slowly
Or fumble with foible hands?
When did my wisdom become so archaic
That the cumulative sum of my life experience
Is regarded by some as the first signs of senility?
An elders’ role long forgotten
In a society obsessed with misspent youth
And mistaken initiations
Of lust and lager
Wizened people were once venerated
Each contour carved into face commanding respect
But I’m not asking to be decorated in holy drape
Just that my knowledge be passed on
Not muddied under a veil of sedation
Is it too much to ask
For the community I’ve supported for years
To band around and protect this humble shell
So I may fall into the vulnerability of Death’s arms
With weakening heart
With peace, honour and gratitude
While I can no longer run this human race
I have much to offer still
Connections now starting to strengthen
With beings on the other side
Etheric chaperones that can make the transition easier
I straddle dimensions to bring in this knowledge
Stifled by syringe
Pilfered by pernicious pills
But the dead can dance
The dead can talk
And they surround me, an envoy for their messages
Longing to be heard for the advancement of the living
A cultural shift
So that the youth may receive the same support
When the Reaper’s scythe cuts the air from their lungs
Discard me in dusty home
And the wheel will turn, eventually
To crush those under the weight of their own ignorance

Poem comes printed on A4-sized paper, unframed

Poem comes printed on A4-sized paper, unframed