The Last Dance

 

They limp and shuffle in their dance,

these sad, senescent men and women,

twilight lit, golden years, silver tears,

courageous in their last grasp on life.

Stiff in joint, pain leading the steps

round the floor. Cracked voices

humming tuneless tunes.

 

Sobbing in their hearts for when

they leaped and spun, effortless.

Overlooked, useless now.

Talents, contributions, laughter,

joy, tears and work forgotten

by those not yet there.

 

They struggle, hold on to themselves

in the face of invisibility.

They look to each other, to claw

there the affirmation  that they still

exist, that the outside is false,

the ancient skin and brittle bone

imposter, the real self energy and muscle.

 

A person, a brain, a heart, a soul,

still alive, sipping those last drops

of sweetness and bitterness.

A nightmare that will end in sleep.

Moribund, moribound, sorrowful shadows,

identities bravely waltzing the last dance.

 

From my book ' Messages are Dancing in the Rain'

 

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