Grandad.I stand at the foot of his bed as heRestlessly struggles to breathe.His soft skin draped over bonesLike an ill fitting blanket.Deep lines in his face,Deep with the tales of a life long lived.With the life that stood in my defence,That stood tall with our nation.Now lying there so cold;A shadow of his former self.Tube fed and ventilated.Deathly still.Sitting next to him a girlFlipping through a magazine.Glossy pages, glossy lives,An obscene façade of who we are.And who are we?Peers, peer to peer networking;Networking a lie in orderfor us to forget what it is to live.Because if we live,And we love,The