My constellation’s in a spin,
just as helpless you are bound
by the shackles of this world.
Chained up to the pounding pence,
and dense connected human cares
dictating you go here and there
but get such thin return.
Now you walk with bending back,
between the rooms where we have sat,
among the places we have been
and call this life your history,
but tide and time have passed you by
lost among the hue and cry.
Roses in the garden wilt,
The bushes creak, shed you built,
will barely see you out.
While family grew as families grow
and family thinks it knows the road
to see each through the threatening days,
illusions shout inside a maze.
Uncle Joe and Auntie Rose
and all those others no one knows
in faded albums never shown,
appear and wander in our dreams,
abandoned by their feckless schemes,
of wealth and health and happy days,
staring from beyond the grave.
For if they had their time again,
they’d still do what they never meant,
go through life as accident,
find no other way.