Magazine Posts

I am hurting so bad,
as she is slipping away.
Sad when I sleep
as her love doesn't stay.

Let me say tomorrow,
what wasn't said today.
I will grant you wishes,
which you'll never pay.

Sanctify my life today,
as I move to the morrow,
along the pathway,
of our life of sorrow.

Non sensical gibberish,
starving for subjects
to write about.
My mind is tired,
dried out. Lack of
sleep will do that
to you, no matter
how fit you are.
I am a long way
from being fit.
My arms like broom sticks,
as alligator skin hangs
from my limbs, like
discarded sheeting.

The club, also appears
to be a lunch club meet
and a Dinner Club,
in the same place to seat.

He, the Physiatrist sits,
in his chair of splendor.
Seldom does he listen,
more a verbal vendor.

Holding court, he does,
speaking of subjects vast.
Listening not to others,
his conversation a broadcast.

Weather, clear, with clouds high.
Windless, trees are still.
I am missing you,
I always will.

When my days are over,
when our lives are one,
I'll remember always,
until this life is done.

What happens now,
when you know me not?
You asked me once,
then asked again,
"Who are you?"

You did that,
for most of the day,
until dinner time,
you said, "I know you".

How confusing
it must be
for you,
my sweet one.

I am trying to
allow you to adjust
to your environment
in memory care.
I miss you,
yet know I must
make this move.

It hurts.
Fortunately, you
won't remember.
I love you.

Long the hours
after the sunset.
Lonely the time,
I do regret.

The dreams we had,
now dead and gone.
The couple's life,
has said so long.

Sad it is, for me,
missing my only love,
what has happened,
from Heaven above?

An anguished cry,
"Why am I alive?
I want my dad,"
for this I strive.

"Who are the two,
who I now see,
I don't know them,
they will not be."

Those are your parents,
your mom and dad.
"I don't know them,"
is what she said.

Breakfast Club is meeting.
Six players in the pool.
The leader, a psychiatrist,
discussing, anyone a fool?

A simple question.
A complicated life,
when you care for
one with Dementia, my wife.

What answers to give,
what words to say,
except, please forgive me,
if I cannot stay.

Words are flowing,
as my mind runs amok.
I don't know what I'll
write. It won't be Tik Tok.

What words I think
or the words I hear,
I must write them quickly
or they will disappear.

Disappear, as in vanish,
no matter how hard I try,
those words in my thoughts
will be gone, no goodbye.

What is it like
in this mind of mine?
Spontaneous words appear
from my thoughts or thine.

I love to write,
knowing this is true.
If I couldn't write,
what would I do?