A re-published poem,
from 6 years ago.
about the slow slide,
into Dementia.
A re-published poem,
from 6 years ago.
about the slow slide,
into Dementia.
Without a moon or star above,
I stand, in darkness, alone.
My thoughts are splashed with color
that comes, not from my eye.
Your face as I remember,
floats airily in space,
as tender springtime breezes blow
the hair from off your face.
Your eyes flash with eternal light
of loves unfilled claim
and flecks of sorrow, can be seen
for the man who has a name,
that you cherish.
He will stand, eternally alone,
in the blackest void,
knowing not of missing love
from one who waits to see,
a smile of recognition.