The falling gentleman

This is a poem I wrote a while back. I tried to picture what it would be like steadily growing elderly and looking back on life. I don't know why but I did it in a style of an older man, and I picked a theme of Autumn to try and tie into it..

See what you think and please leave a comment :)

 The falling gentleman

Autumn mists are cracked like your voice
Tired of growing
Tired of ageing
You want to capture
Spring, for new life and wonders

Yet you only have mushrooms
Spotted mushrooms
With crumpled folds of skin steadily
Shrivelling

But how melancholy,
For each time it bends closer to the
ground it lets out a pityful cry
A cry that could almost be
human
'Each day I am closer to my passing'

Warped roots wrap
around your scuffed hoary soles
As you take a rusty breath and
sigh you see a
slice of your spirit

That five year old boy
Seized by the Spring
The infant believed he
would incessantly frolic
through the many blades
of grass..

Each one succulent...
Now it's sour.

You took her there
She was Summer.
Although..

You had changed.
The oak's army twirled around your
lifeless,
limp body, suffocating.

They want you,
they drained your inner being
your colour like the crippled mushroom
Occasionally,

You can sense the beauty seeping through
you can feel the warmth again
Of Summer

You're stuck though.
Squelching...
Knowing that each
And every day
you’re closer
to your passing.