Skip to main content
Dementia.

Those days of blues and greys fading into black
are waiting in anticipation just behind my back,
gathering momentum
before they swoop in to attack
my equilibrium
and dash and smash my days into the ground.
Without a sound they rent the greys to shreds
and blood is running
red, red, red inside my head.
Ribbons of silk and sorrow leaving no trace
of who I am or where I've gone, as they erase
and conquer the essential me at last.

VS March 1 2016.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Art and the Act of Writing & Reading

I love the act of writing whether putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. All of it  - whether I am creating poetry, essays, copy or ghost writing. And I love writing letters  as well as receiving them. I wish this had not gone out of  style or been replaced by the quick soundbite or messaging. I love the process. Writing for me is tactile. Poetry for instance must first be written with pen and notebook. There is something particular about physically connecting to the paper and it must be the right paper. I have many notebooks for this purpose and they are chosen very carefully for size and feel and sometimes for a message they might have imprinted on them. Similarly, the pens must also be special whether by colour, shape or a unique design. How they feel in my hand and how fluidly they write is very important to the process for me.  When I am writing it feels the same as if I were painting with a brush on a canvas. The page is my canvas and the pain...
1 comment
Read more
Not for the Faint of Heart Love is not for the faint of heart. To allow love,  answering its only need takes courage and a willingness to surrender blindly to the journey full of rocks and stony places. To stumble but not falter certain that love is a constant  which will carry us to safety, a straight line to the beloved  our ultimate destination.
Post a Comment
Read more