Hang your high heads,
heavy with the weight of your life,
hair gone gray from stress.
Is it in shame or prayer?
Tears drip down
cold on my skin,
matting my hair.
I look away,
afraid to see you
break under pressure.

Your fingers curl
brittle with seasonal arthritis.
You're still young yet,
but i hear your bones
moaning,
your joints stretching,
cracking,
and I fear for your life
and mine alike.