I Hear the Words

I hear the words,
filling the air,
asking for her mother,
in a voice of despair.

She loves our oldest son,
while say he's me.
She doesn't know,
it's I she can see.

Dementia is so cruel,
there is no comfort to see,
knowing of others,
who are the same as me.

May the wrath of God,
start falling on me,
not on my wife.
Is this my blasphemy?

I don't care if it is,
I've wasted time and breath.
I will await my visit,
with the Old Dr. Death.