Magazine Posts

I am strong,
I am bright,
at least my mind
believes I am right.
Here to write a new ode,
about a woman,
who dwells in my abode.
Her Dementia, on this day,
has gone into the Sundown
phase as I do say.
She starts to look
at old paperwork
or a new book.
She will ask questions about
life long friends
and when she asks
about their name,
I will tell her so,
again and again.

I run.
I hide.
I cannot flee.
I am stuck here.
I do not see.
I am her keeper.
For an eternity.
I have no life.
Neither does she,
for my sweet wife
is to always be,
her guardian protector,
a time for me.

The rocks were slick
with a slimy green.
I placed my boot,
in the rushing stream,
where it moved and slipped,
as if a bad dream.
I lost my footing,
fell into the water,
over my head.
Fortunately, my waders,
with belt around my waist,
prevented water from
rushing in.
I re-found my footing,
now I was standing tall.
I'll tell you this,
waters are cold in the Fall.
I survived my bath
in the rushing stream
and when I awoke
it was just a dream.

Run the distance.
Run it hard.
Weed the bed,
out in the yard.
Stay close to her,
is what you do,
for there will never be
another you.

The long, slow journey, yet to come,
where we will go, then succumb,
to the ravage on you, precious dear,
where symptoms were there and did appear.
Forgetfulness, behavior, oh so strange,
you don't remember, not even my name.

I am so dead!
Dead tired, instead
of the drain on my sanity.
Is it about thee?
Or is it still about me?
I tire of the change in this life.
I tire of the illness which took my wife.
Complaining about something you can't control,
is awkward, clumsy, self pity hyperbole.
"I am sorry" I say in advance.
Dead tired in this life's deadliest dance.

Walk not quickly, if your balance is gone,
for it takes no effort and your on the ground.
Choose your path; smooth and straight,
to avoid falling. If you must, use a cane,
no matter the path, no matter the stone,
do what you must, to stand alone.

Will you come to me on the morrow,
bringing forth your joy and sorrow,
as you carry, your memories past?
Is this the ending of the story thou hast?
I will be gone in the future soon,
as a new tune I hear,
spills forth, the sadness I fear.
Stay with me until dawn does awake.
One more hug; I will not break.

Oh my, the joy I feel,
when you are talking to me,
about what is happening now,
in the present or recent day..
You don't recall words just said.
The thoughts aren't there.
Instead you ask questions of me.
"Do you remember?" Is what you
say, "the lady we saw yesterday?"
There is confusion, by me,
if it was on TV or in real time.
What a struggle it must be for you,
not able to recall or to separate
TV actions from the real world.
I see confusion in you, when
an ad comes on and you say,
"Who are these people? For them,
I do not know?" I tell you they
are actors, or it is an ad.
I am saddened to see
there is no reaction or understanding
of what I just said and will probably
hear the words, from you, again.

He rode through the Valley of Death.
Etched in his mind, were the fears,
he had worried about, over the years.
From the depth of his Soul,
amidst a ruinous life,
was the rapid derogation of
his beloved wife.
Questions were raised; answers were few,
no help by Medical staff except
to keep steering the course,
while friends and family were his only resource.
Take from me now, for I am able to pay.
You will I know, 'til the end of our day.

To write again, these words to you,
brings satisfaction, in what I do,
for these words, which are here,
will remain on paper, when I disappear.
Written words as a Writer's craft,
brings forth meaning, from the chaff.
Are the words confusing? I will ask,
for writing words is my daily task.

Leaves swirling under tree,
an occasional Hornet,
visiting flowers.

Trying to create words
without inspiration
is as if making a new
kind of aberration.