The Antiquated Man

 They label me "A Good man" they way they mark quarantine zones. 
An estranged awareness of healthiness is had that either isn't held or isn't wanted. 
Years are the weapon of choice in understanding- sharpened to a point to protect fear. 
An inarguable atomic bomb dropped on a discussion intended to kill all life growing within.
"Look at these women your age" she says, forgetting her own disdain for the ones at the table the night we met. 
Virtue wilts in time. Morals fray and decay. Innocence is lost after paying such a high cost, and its left to those good men to shoulder the blame. Cells of isolation, hands reaching through the bars.  Like some circus attraction for the world to come see. See the good man is his pain, and come now- leave him yearning for freedoms touch. Look at the righteous antiquated man, good for everything except you.