The old man
Grayed with age
Squinted in dismay
At the brightness
Of the screen
Displaying the words
Of his newborn poem

His vision
had blurred
As his days
Turned to years
And the words
That he saw
Brought shape
To those
Gleeful memories
When his Jokes
Brought smiles
To faces
Of friends
He used to know

His head throbbed
In different direction
Bolts of pressure
Expanding outwards
Dulled his thoughts

As his wrinkled brow
Gave birth to a new idea