Spent

The living hell of Alzheimer’s for all concerned.


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      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.
Numb.

Futility stifles rogue words of comfort
or inspiration.
We sit in silence, bonded by love.
Staring bleakly
screaming inwardly
for the return of lucidity.

One last flame
to light the way
into nothingness…

Though not alone.

Spent.

© stormwolf 2017
Views: 1485
critique and comments welcome.

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10 Comments on "Spent"

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Jolen
Member

Allison,
This piece touched me deeply. It’s a horrible disease and the worst thief I can imagine. I like how you have divided it up, as it reads a bit erratic like the condition itself. Very clever. I also particularly enjoyed this simile:
Like late blooming flowers
overtaken by first bitter frost.
Our hopes lie cold within us.

A poetic reminder of our own fragility and how that which is most precious, can slip away from us and we are powerless to stop it. Much enjoyed the read, my dear.

love,
jolen

Savvi
Member

Hi Alison
I can tell every word here has been selected carefully and such touching subject matter I can totally connect with makes this a special poem to me. I just love the line “Futility stifles rogue words of comfort” Best Keith

Pommer
Member

Alison,
what a wonderful way to describe the effects of this dreadful disease.It brought tears to my eyes, reading your words,reminding me of the Sunday, exactly eight weeks ago today ,when I sat at my wife’s bedside until her last breath holding hands..It was by no means easy, but in some ways a happy release for my darling. Stay strong Alison,
Peter
xx

ChairmanWow
Member

Allison,
I have not gone through this but have an elderly mother (only 23 years older than me!). It is hard to accept that role reversal of care giving is coming soon. Your poem is personal but also a distilling of an experience that many will have to face.

Supratik
Member

Thank God you allowed comments this time around. Reading the sadness in the poem is healing and I don’t know if I am contradicting myself, but that’s how it is in my view. But do we really know if screeching from inside is known. I had my uncle who, in his last stages, forgot to eat, The lines are touching. I didn’t know you were a healer, but hey I am not surprised.
May you get more and more of words that settle inside us and change the way we think. Blessings my dear friend.
Supratik

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