Staring

Spending Friday Nights Alone
Call up people - No one's Home
Reminice of finer times
Playing poker, winning dimes
Laughing, joking, never lifting a brow
But this is All forgotten Now
For No one wants to give their Hand
On Friday night to some old man.
What's even worse is - - this man is lame.
No one to help him. Is life but a game?
Each person a player just getting one roll.
See who can do best in life as a whole.
He once could compete his body so strong.
But he's had his present condition so long.
This condition of empty, miserable years --
People know it as Age; His eyes fill with tears
Alone in his room day after day
His eyes reflect the room of gray
Fragments of paint dangle on end
He stares into space as his spirits descend
He turns his stare from the wall to the moon
Yes, he's aware, that death's coming soon.