Hands that are withered From toil and pain
Wring briskly together In his silent domain.
For years he has struggled To always be there
But now sits alone In an old rocking chair.
As his lips softly move If you listen… you’ll hear
The sounds of a prayer For his loved ones to appear.
But as the day slowly ebbs… As evening draws nigh,
He stares through the window With a silent goodbye.
Antony King is a writer/ poet from Eastern Kentucky. Antony spent his formal years in Cleveland Ohio where he underwent private instruction in The Arts, Music, and Literature. His love of the classics guided him to poetry and fueled his passion for writing. After art school, Antony spent 23 years in the world of advertising, and design. He began honing his skills both as a writer, and an artist. He has been fortunate to have his works published in several journals, and contributes to his local, as well as online poetry groups.