The living hell of Alzheimer’s for all concerned.
Spent - Stormwolf
It’s spent we are.
Though kicking wildly
against the traces of defeat.
Like late blooming flowers
overtaken by first bitter frost.
Our hopes lie cold within us.
Futility stifles rogue words of comfort
We sit in silence, bonded by love.
for the return of lucidity.
One last flame
to light the way
Though not alone.
© stormwolf 2023
Thank you Daff. They call Alzheimer’s ‘The Long Goodbye’
So it is, as we witness the desecration of the person we hold so dear.
My mother’s mind was her most precious possession. Incredible intellect and wisdom, gone in one long goodbye. 🙁
I look forward to reading your poem.
I can’t believe I missed this, Alison. I am so sorry, because it deserved great merit – DOES deserve great merit… hence it was given the nib. Belated congratulations for that.
Allen, I am SO sorry it has taken me so long to respond. In one ear and out the other seems to be the way of things now. Thank you so much for appreciating this heartfelt poem.
I only just found this (I must broaden my viewing!); and yes, Griffonner has the right of it; congratulations Alison on an excellent piece.
Dougie! Apologies again for this very late reply. I so appreciate any comments on my poems and if I am slow to reply it means I have forgotten or unable for some reason. I wrote so many poems about my mother. The daffodils are in bloom once more. Her favourite flower and memories of how she used to drive me mad on car runs with her reciting ” I wandered lonely as a cloud etc” I think she liked annoying me but I told her the time would come the daffodils would cause me great pain of loss. Those days… Read more »
No worries Alison; I’ve been out of circulation myself this past week – a temporary situation I hope. Apart from appreciating your excellent poem, it is the first one of yours I’ve read – or is that spoken aloud?
Yes, it is a long goodbye. Sometimes comical but most of the time heart wrenching. I am starting this process with my mother just this year. She was moved in with my sister and kept calling me to come take her home, wanted to escape back to the house we grew up in. Like how how your poem is shaped, goes with the subject matter.