A lost generation

The old eyes look at me,
telling me the many stories,
of a long-gone past.
Their wrinkles give me,
a cup with wrung-out tears.
And their thin grey hair,
whisper the secret wisdom.
I wish the walls had ears.

Time is running out,
but your excellent politeness,
waves your loneliness away.
Your heart is focused solemnly on love.
For this fast-paced life is too quick.
Your heart cannot keep up,
and your memory loses the battle.
I wish the world would slow down.

An orphan are you,
left by those who carry your heart,
leaving your old soul,
with many paper-wrapped excuses,
yet your love does not wither away,
and your mouth speaks,
your wise understanding.
I wish the blind eyes could see you.

My heart holds the old eyes,
and my eyes shed the tears,
for a lost generation.