The sanctuary of home


His wrinkled skin hangs against
The crispness of the sheets
No decadent surroundings
The darkness of the frosted morning
Blanketed by cotton drapes
Connected to wires that
Monitor his heart and
The hand on the clock
Moves another space

He waits alone much as he lives
This sterile room brightly lit
His mind on hold for a diagnosis
He shakes from fear not cold
The noise of people walking
Wont allow his body to rest

He remembers the silence
Before bombs hit the streets
Those he dragged to safety
Tending to their wounds
Medicine was scarce back then
Some died in his arms

He blearily eyed thanked the
Nurse who brought a cup of tea
His manners remained impeccable
He was raised this way
Help him see the light of tomorrow
With the curtains drawn
Without the starchiness of
Cold sheets, let him return
Though he lives alone
To sleep within his quiet space
With the memories of home

Copyright 27.8.2014

30 thoughts on “The sanctuary of home

  1. I love old people and wrinkly skin; my best friend was 40 years older than me. This was a wonderful post.

    • Oh God darling no, sorry if you thought that, he did go in for a day procedure to get his cataract removed and his eye is completely bloodshot, but he’s okay. I just felt this when I saw the photo ~ thank you sweety ❤ xxx

  2. Very wonderful how you captured the essence of this fine man, who was such a ‘giver’ in his life, now he is listening for the Call to Home. It will be beautiful and all he dreams of and more! Hugs for this powerful and meaningful poem. The message touches the core of my thoughts, of my times I held elderly hands, during the 4 years as an Activities Director at a nursing home and lastly, my Dad, who became a frail shell of a man… until we meet again. xoxo

    • Beautiful comment ~ thank you Robin, how many hands you would have held and how gorgeous that you had that opportunity. You and you dad will meet again, I am absolutely sure of it. Hugs ❤ xx

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