The Hostel

The hotel was old
Looking out on darkened streets,
In dimly lit windows
Curtains wept for days gone by.
At the front, battered columns
Stood like crutches
Supporting memories.
They stood, on either side of a column.
She, with sunken eyes of londliness,
Her tattered clothes and holey shoes
Poor defenders against the cold.
He, with empty smiles of dementia,
His blackened, whiskered face
Daring the wind.
Never speaking of life
As it raced by.
Never asking, never knowing,
Just accepting,
Waiting
Until tomorrow,
For the changing of the guard.

C. Lawry Brown's Questions:

Do I get my point across in this one by the imagery, the feeling of desperation for a time lost?  This old hotel that once was a beautiful place holds up only memories and the hopeless are its tenants.