Echoes of Forgotten Care

The chairs are lined like gravestones in a room that never sleeps.

Names drift past on clipboards, but mine just sinks too deep. A promise hangs

above me, frosted fin and pale as dawn. They call this place a safety

net, but all its threads are gone. And I hear it in the

silence. Silence, silence. In the hum of dying light.

Dying light. A country built on kindness. Kindness, kindness.

That forgets us in the night. We reach for something solid. But it slips

like melting sleet. Tell me why the care we're owed haunts the halls where care