Seasons

[SuicidalBlueJay]

Edit 1

Sitting on an old cedar chair,
staring into the fireplace
of a weathered cabin.

A worn elderly man nurses
a peaceful thought in
his mind.

Winters passing has come,
he wonders when the birds will
come back to their homes.

The fire's crackling reminds
him to inhale
softly on his pipe.

Slowly the smoke slithers
out of his mouth and swims
upward in the still air.

He pushes his hands
against the arms
of the chair.

Floorboards creek as
the man walks to the door.
His trembling hands twist
the handle.

As he walks outside
he hears the welcome sound.
Chirping birds above him.

I honestly really liked this poem. I usually don't like poems that don't rhyme, but this one was particularly easy to understand. It was kind of beautiful. Anyways, when I saw the word "trembling" I thought the old man was maybe scared or something. Like you know how he is walking to the door? "trembling" makes me feel a lot of anticipation, like in scary movies where someone slowly turns the door knob? I think maybe "unsteady" would describe an old mans hands better, you know? I could be wrong. I'm new to poetry so don't take it to heart. But just a thought!

I like the change you made from "rotting" to "weathered" though. Very nice poem