Despairing Golden of Years by Beth Tremaglio at

Despairing Golden of Years


To all who take the time to read this piece, I am grateful. Thank you.



This piece is about an elder man who has had to find work, he can no longer afford to stay fully retired. Rising cost of living, taxes and medical expenses have taken toll on this gentleman named, Jack. The last part of this piece, I could hear him speak the verses with tears in his eyes. I read this out loud and tears filled mine also. It is my hope, that his voice be heard here, his emotions felt here and I hope I’ve done his words justice. This is for you Jack. As our talk came to a close, he winked and said “maybe someday, I’ll have the golden years!”


Despairing Golden of Years

written by: Beth Tremaglio



Dimming of tongue,
withering hands gesture the stop sign,
lull this clattered soul,

be still.

Hushed tones,
tip this gentleman’s cap to figures of stone,
whored to neon gods,

they whisper,

lullabies to entice a yay or nay,
campaign songs woven of riddle,
perfect in rhythm and rhyme, filling the stages time.

Handshaker, can you not hear?
Language from deafening silhouettes,
cry for this golden of years,
a despairing abandon, bought and sold for another’s
covetous lusts.

Grandstander, do you not see?
Help wanted hung upon my soul,
reflected upon my skin,
structures of dimming color,
streets of broken stone,
drum sounds of deepening rhythmic tones,
play beneath my sole.
Autumn of life sold,
work I cannot let go,
wed to this tax, a demanding idle lord, sits as midwife to take,
of labors first and second reward.

Elected, you have taxed to death, golden of year, trodden upon your floor.
Orator, promise no more.



Are you there?

Please, can I have my golden of year?

Upon labored hands,
unredeemed, a face weathered and worn,
bends to waves of building storms,
waves that never leave shore.



Do you hear?

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This publication is part 2 of 10 in the series Voices on Skin