Alzheimer's Curse

Yesterdays condemn him to many a long, lost thought; Blood on the finger tips remind him of battles fought. The open lands behind are engulfed by endless storms, And for now life itself will be seen in diff'rent forms. Through a distant window there burns, faintly, an old lamp, It's a sign of welcome for those with no place to camp. Food is ever present as is a large fire place; All that is asked of them is they leave behind no trace. Many are still walking upon a deserted road; Each one carries stories that for now are left untold. They'll not release secrets and rarely mention a name, Yet they move through shadows without favor, without shame. It's like he's lost to time, been caught up in winds of change, Still searching for footprints which lead o'er the sandy plains. He's just seen the window that holds the flickering light, And prays he will be blessed to make it there on this night.