The old discarded

Eighty old folks in the home.
Sitting in rows, frail.
Many in wheelchairs.
Looking beyond us, searching.

Were they hoping to see
their children had come?
Hopeful faces going blank.
Shoulders slumped, losing hope.

I was there with a group.
To bring Christmas cheer.
We sang Carols; served lunch.
And tried to give care and comfort.

The lives they had, taken away.
Among strangers they live now.
Always searching for a face.
Each day hope dies a little.

I saw eyes dull and empty.
Filled with pain and sadness.
Vacant; nothing left to live for.
Each day waiting for death.

I don’t think I can do this again.
To see so many sent away, discarded.
Left in homes, alone and abandoned.
Sick and dying, without family around.

I am not judging.
Their story I don’t know.
But sadness I see in their eyes.
A vacant loneliness, for hope has gone.

By C.E. Pereira
(2-1-2019)

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