poetry timeee!

"And who are you?"

There is a place that I go
which my world fails to find.
I am an alien to their place
though I have been here several times.
The recliners creak quitely
careful not to disturb their occupants.
And Frank Sinatra's voice constantly colors
the pale lifeless atmosphere.
Blank faces, soundless lips
silenced by the swallowing days.
I wonder-
Does my voice appear
beneath the strangled strands of lucidity,
knotted and matted like a rats nest.
Do you know who I am?
Their eyes have seen more then mine,
They have lived their lives
And this is where they sit
and where I sit
to watch their time dwindle by.
But there is something about this place that draws me,
I have yet to discover why.
Possibly the occasional meaningful story,
gentle touch, or graceful smile.
I am just a new face everyday
but I don't really mind.
I just smile and introduce myself
as I have done time after time.