Frank Williams

THE FORGOTTEN ONES

As I walk through the halls, the walls speak. Voices, echo from a shell of what a youth used to be. Figures in wheelchairs sitting against the walls and around tables. Some smile, some nod. Some want you to sit down and just talk for awhile. Loneliness is in their veins.

It's inhumane how their folks don't come to visit them. Somehow, a few manage to fix up a smile as you approach, these forgotten ones.

They know where they are, and they will continue to be there. The sounds, the smells! Some may think this kind of life is worst than hell. For to grow old and be put in a place of care isn't easy for the ones who live in them. Some are holding up strongly, maintaining their dignity, remembering how things used to be, and coming to grips with how things came to be. Loneliness is in their veins.

Although, some may be helpless and feeling uneasy because some remember their earlier years with delight. You know, when people, family, and friends come around the most. They were important then.

Now, these people have grown old and hard to care for. No more knock on their doors or phone calls on their phones. As the birthdays and holidays pass, some linger in the halls; some never leave their rooms; some have even lost hope. But you should hope the day never comes that you'll become The Forgotten Ones.