The Old and Feeble

The old and feeble live in my town.
Slow and steady they drift,
a light continually blinking.
Moving on, taking their time,
every moment seeming an hour.
Like a perpetual left turn, my town spins,
off kilter with the world,
out of balance, out of time.
Silent and still they are,
like butterflies gliding to and fro,
though not as graceful.
Hospital beds and gurneys,
needles and catheters,
unpleasantries of all sorts contend.
As life and death battle,
they look up to the divine,
their God, their faith.
As heart monitors beep
and machines whir,
their lives come to a stop,
never moving,
never drifting again.
A life forgotten,
a life full, diminished.
The old and feeble live in my town.

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