Grandpa's Demise

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Grandpa calls his bod the spoils of wars

still scarred by the battle, living his life on all fours,

His guns and knives stuffed in silos and stores

Patiently he awaits the horde.

Though at times he might be but a creep,

Always resisting the demon of sleep

slowly, they creep

and when he desists, Grandma weeps

He sits at his door all day waiting the battle cries,

believing everyone has a disguise so he Stares at strangers and passerby's

Death sits by him now to fulfill his blessed ties

and waits the time he slumbers to cause  mourning cries

Though one time i adore about my grandpa,

Isn't his weapons, his stories or his friends from Casablanca

but his courage, his faith and his awesome lingual franca

he never gives up on his dream of war

Patiently he awaits for the horde.