The old man, he comes.
With a bluster.
Without warning. With intent.
Swirling. Menacing.
He waits around and goes where and when he pleases.
He’ll stay, or he’ll go. When he wants.
He’ll disappear in no time. But he’ll be back.
He’ll be back. Bigger, badder. Blacker.
He’ll be back alright. But in a different form. In a different light.
The old man will be back. And we’ll remember him. He’ll look different, but it’ll still be him.
The old man will come back.
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© 2026 Darren Martin
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