A life unfulfilled?

I watched the old man
sitting on the park bench
all by himself, staring listlessly
I couldn’t tell where.

May he was measuring
the relativity of his life
with the nauseatic newness
of everything around him.

His determined hands
that had grown old from
working hard day and night
held a beautiful flower.

His eyes glistened with tears
which were not of loneliness
and definitely not because
he feared his approaching death.

The tears began flowing
uninvited, triggering within
the man an irreversible
growth of deep guilt.

The old man was guilty
of not living his life his way,
because nobody ever told him
that emotions matter.

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