Pulling apart many ways

The old man was a fading ghost
Laden down with unfinishing work
Forever a tortured slave
of course in body
but ever so in mind
Never finding peace & satisfaction
Being not himself

A young boy is hope springing eternal
Always free of bonds, happily preoccupied
Doing the things he naturally does, timelessly
The eternal now
Was only born, never the painful start
Does not die, nary a bitter end
Being himself

The man is ageing
Like raw grape juice that must
improve into mellower wine
He keeps hearing the boy's voice a-calling
And as more these days looks through old man's dwindling eyes
Courage & sense grow
Death not the suffering, but the lifelong stalwart companion
This is life fully lived every moment