Five and thirty five

Charles is five and thirty five both.
The childhood, and the middle age both
are here, both hang on walls of paper
against paper pictures, hounds and beasts
scare the child, hounds and beasts
adorn the wall for the middle aged
man who has forgotten fear,
who has forgotten how to hold hands
of someone he loves, and tell words
of empathy and ask questions that matter,
and forgotten how to smile,
so he feeds the dogs and puts birds
in fancy cages, and holds a stick
and walks with a limp, unlike the child
who runs across fields of yellow flowers
and smiles at the cameraman
who is his mother, who is sometimes his father
and both are a memory now, like the yellow fields,
and the dogs and hounds who tried to save them
are his companions.