Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Alzheimer’s’

He’d lost some weight; his skin stuck to his skull
As plastic wrap will fit each hollow place,
And shape itself ’round all that’s sharp or dull.
His bone was now his hair, and cheek, and face.

My presence did not wake him from a nap.
I touched him, though, since consciousness I sought,
And he, still fresh within that thinnest wrap,
Was crisp like lettuce in his speech and thought.

His packaging I did not sorrow o’er;
Though frail as butterflies, he had his health.
Instead, I left, exulting all the more
Since he was in his mind and thus his wealth.

——————————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

Read Full Post »

 

No ink is now left in the printer.
Old copies are gone; new ones fail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The loved ones are new as they enter;
Each day that they visit’s a veil.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The new leaves their minds like a sprinter;
The old is locked up in a jail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The life that remains is a splinter
Though body be hearty and hale.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The spring was not owner, but renter.
Both summer and fall have set sail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

What’s there is a shell with no center;
The heart’s been torn out of the tale.
No ink is now left in the printer.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

————————————————

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

Read Full Post »