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'