Magazine Posts

Wandering
aimlessly
down the hall
on a journey
to nowhere.

Checking doors
as they go,
without a plan,
to journeys end.

A lost soul,
wouldn't know,
behavior quiet,
off they go.

Life's spinning
in circles.
A spiraling
death knell,
on the way to
Dementia Hell.

Early morning runs,
never were appealing
to me.
I didn't like the cold
and it was very hard
to see.

What do you say
when your loved
one asks you,
"Are you my Daddy?"
We have been married
more than 65 years.
She no longer speaks my name.
I know she loves me,
as she tells me, over and
over again.

Reposting to see if I can stimulate the creative process.

Friends forever,
'til death do us part.
You have my emotions
and stolen my heart.
From the moment
I saw you,
right from the start,
you'll will remain
forever, in my heart.

I am missing you,
though you sit
next to me.
The sound of
your voice,
saying, you'll
take care of me,
causes tears to
roll down my cheeks,
as your assurance,
saying, "I'm Ok"
brings comfort,
though what you
say, isn't true.
I cherish these moments
while I can.

Another adventure
in bedlam.
I helped get my wife,
ready for bed, complete
with a nightgown.
I awoke at 3:15 AM,
found my wife, now
fully clothed,
complete with
windbreaker and shoes,
lying next to me.
She remembered nothing.
Dementia is insidious to all.

One cannot fathom,
the depth of love,
from reading
a line or two.
Words, describe
it not.
Emotions,
ever in play,
as we grow old.
Memories past,
long they are,
long they will be,
until such time
as memories flee.

Forget the loneliness of hills,
where lay fields of grass.
Does it matter, who it's for
or what is behind the door?
An emptiness, no spoken word,
of being alone,
hidden in shadows.
Away from the curious eyes,
who search for flaws
in thought and mind.
Go from here you lonely soul,
find another, sad as you.
leave this place,
is what you should do.

Words flee
from out
my head,
to hand
with pen,
now poised
to scribe
once more,
the voice
of reason,
becoming one.
Failing verse
of words
written before,
making a choice.
Rest you not
and don't rejoice,
for we must
move on.

Inane questions,
in distance, near.
No substance
to what I hear,
except to say,
will I be here,
after calendar days
have gone a year?