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Visited a maternal grand-aunt yesterday. she's 94. and frail. and teetering at the very edge. To be honest, it was a shade unsettling to see her. For just a moment, i saw just how oblivious most of us are of how we'll all end up. 6 years ago it would have first raised the question of why we don't care for the elderly any better. Yesterday, it made me see why many of us would like to go out with a bang, rather than teeter and tip over. We wish. (this poem itself was written 6 years ago) The lantern was found in the darkness when it struck the head. a message danced on the walls in the swinging light it shed. the wind that breached the doors and windows spoke less than it rapidly spelt; the fervid imagination of a stationary mind that remembered more than it felt. Addendum: the focus of this poem wasn't old age per se, but the state of mind of a father, who being of no further use to his children, lives alone; with the memories he has, for family, and the frequent hallucinations, for guests.