Crumpled
Behind prison bars,
the elders
give in
to the impending
shift.
Their crumpled skin
foretells of change,
yet their minds,
at a crossroads,
forget to remember
reality.
I've seen them,
gazing from windows,
"I made some soup!"
"Help me!"
happiness and despair,
remnants of
earthly sanity.
Their crumpled skin
grows large
for the ever-fleeing
soul.
Solitude behind prison bars,
until the shift,
before the Spring,
begs for forgiveness,
prays for company.
Have mercy on the crumpled elders,
for they have been held tight within
the hand of Time...