A lost forest of wisdom

After living the adventure of life
Humans are up against a dead end,
Altough their toughts are still precise,
Gliding towards dead, they can not amend,

For it's part of a corruptive process
Of our flesh and, indubitably, our mind.
It's terrifying I must confess
When we are at the end of the line.

In the eyes of the young ones,
Victor Hugo once wrote: we see flames,
But it's from the elder's that comes [the light],
The purpose of being old, claims [for it].

Nevertheless , no one is interested
On what an elder think or have to say,
They are condemned, packed and pressed,
It's a price they are obliged to pay

They are therefore lost
In a foreign forest of absency
Of their minds, and at what cost?
A loss wisdom, dumped to mortality.