My hand is aching.
So is my thumb.
Writing with Arthritis
Has to be dumb.

My body aches
My mind is old and musty.
My skin isn't thin
But thick and crusty.
Call me old, that's ok,
For some day I will go away.
In the interim. There is no doubt.
Just march on; don't yell or shout.

I hadn't written for days,
not even in hours,
until this time.
Watching all the sorrows,
poured forth on their march,
for days on the morrow.
Drown out the pain
enter the chaos,
for we are God's children.
All of us.
Pray for each other.
Pray as you please.
Pray for salvation,
down on your knees.

Genius borders on the
edge of insanity.
I know this to be true,
for I have become
a great fool for you.