Something I wrote with a thought in my head, I don't feel it came out right but I'm going to let all the fuzzies here decide, pick it to pieces!

His smile.
His whithered skin,
His style,
An age long past.

This frail being, so old.
Quiet he hobbles,
Down a busy road.
Not a word,
Just a smile that speaks words untold.

Shuffling softly,
He moves down the street,
Makes it to the flower shop,
Purchases roses so sweet.

The honking of the cars,
Moving so fast,
So far.
"Move you old fuck!" Screamed,
As the man carries on.

Busy markets
Busy places,
Constant moving,
Not even a moment taken.

The man carries on home,
The day spent.
He sits himself down,
His journey underwent.

The pictures of accolades past,
Strewn across the walls,
Degrees,
Commendations filling his halls.

Roses in hand he places them,
Into a porcelain vase.
The urn of his wife,
Never leaving his gaze.

A single tear falling from his eye.
His sunken sockets filled with remorse again.
"I miss you my love"
"You were my best friend".

Once more he realises to never move so fast,
So as to enjoy each moment...
Then have to live in what is left of the past.