The gold high-rise penetrates heaven.
Who wouldn’t hide or scream?
There is but one saving grace.
The skies are not what they used to be.
Once full, they are now empty and cold.
In the safety of my arms, I hold God close.
We cry together, but not to sleep.
This is not the time to dream, but to wake up.
Read my letter about our wounded society’s need for elders at Fierce with Age.com.
