Things Old Things

                      Things Old Things

They were young.
Now they are our history.
In nursing homes they are forgotten.
Rubbish and Rotten.
They were are past and now pickle.

Sour the air when you enter the town.
All of the old gather round.
When you enter they offer a hand but they are nobody and not your clan.

We fear the old because of imprisonment mortality.
We read of them for our current reality.
We always fight to resist our doom.
But next to you is your impending doom.

"Have you reached your verdict?" Yells your father.
But no one comes, no bother.
For he has lost his mind, as you surly will.
This is your family's genes.
It is too late to make your will.