Old Marrieds - Diane Scantlebury

Soft candle lights flicker
Romantic ballads play,
Old marrieds dine in silence
No words left to say,
Eyes cast down and heads bowed
Almost as if in prayer,
No visible communication
They quietly consume their fare.

In the corner a young man
Falls to his knees,
Grasping the hand
Of the love he’s chosen,
While the rest of the room
Erupts in applause,
The old marrieds sit
Not acknowledging, their bodies frozen.

When did the magic
Die for them?
Did their passion
Ever reach its pinnacle?
Would they now pour scorn
On the happy couple’s hopes?
Or have they of youthful dreams
Become cynical?

Diane Scantlebury