The Weight of Years

Once proud and tall, a beacon of might,
Now cast in shadows, removed from the light.
The mirror reflects a face once bold,
But dignity fades as the story unfolds.

Wrinkles mark time like rings on a tree,
Yet they see not wisdom, only frailty.
Hands that built dreams, now tremble and shake,
A life of foundation, dismissed as a break.

The world moves quickly, no time to revere,
The voices of elders grow distant, unclear.
Ignored in the din of ambition's roar,
Their stories of struggle mean little, no more.

In youth, they were heroes, defenders of fate,
Builders of futures, bearers of weight.
But now they are labeled as "past their prime,"
A relic displaced by the march of time.

No seats at the table, no space for their say,
Their value diminished in this modern fray.
Chased by the specter of obsolescence,
They fade in the haze of their own essence.

But beneath the dismissal, a quiet fire burns,
For the dignity lost is the dignity earned.
Through lives lived fully, in laughter and pain,
They are the roots that we still sustain.

So honor the old, their stories, their scars,
They are the compass, our guiding stars.
For one day we too will face this plight,
Seeking our dignity in the fading light.