Un-caring for the elderly

Un-caring for the elderly

We are but ghostly

Haunting the bones of life

Breaking out spirits

Sipped from a dusty glass

Darkly stained

In spite of the old ones

Mopping lined brows

Creased with dirt

Oiled in the skin

Of past misdeeds

Floating in brine

The salt of the earth

Too grand a name

To be worth a care

Unless you dare

To listen

To tall tales

Told over coal fires

Leaping in shadow

Warming cold hearts

For the moment

Of their awakening

When dreams were made flesh

For more than one day

Until the last sun

Sets

In a symphony

Of unfinished business

And tired ghosts

Never eased

In fretful wander

Through high walled

Unlit halls

Searching for the advent

Of a saviour