In a nursing home for the elderly, at a table made for five.

Three of us sat chatting, two barely alive.

"I like this ice cream," one said, while eating marshmallow jel.

A silver haired old droop-er, babbled on of God an Hell.

An in the mist of memory, and the mind-fields in between.

I felt the expressions of the ignored, robbed by the competent  fiend.

The pain of a mind having seen it all, just waiting for the end.

And the laughter trapped behind the eyes, of speechless dying men.

In the middle of the battle, of what life is all about.

A paralyzed mind began to speak, and then it shouted out!

I can die when I want, no one left to say.

I can see the path ahead, and someone leads the way.

Then a bony finger raised, and pointed straight at me.

Your the one who leads the way, you go before me.

I looked down and saw myself, older than I knew.

We said goodbye to table friends, and left the lively two.