Her mind has become a tangle of webs.
Her memories fight against each other as she tries to recall her wedding dress.
Words mix and mingle as her grandchildren tell her about their day.
Past and present blur as her loved ones dance beside the lake.
She weeps and she frowns as she realises that she's not well.
She smiles as she bids her daughter farewell.
This is a poem I wrote about dementia.
A poets heart,
Is a very deep well
It holds many secrets,
Some we never tell
We speak in rhymes,
We write of hope for the future,
Or sadness gone before
We are guilty,
Of feeling things too deep
And pondering secrets,
Life its self has to keep
Poets see things clearly,
That others cannot
We wonder about questions,
Which time, has forgot
A poets heart,
Beats at a different pace
A poets pen,
Defies time and space
Create our own written place
Are together, our own race
We stand apart
And live in the deep well,
Of our poetic hearts
Oh, how she moves her legs as I swing this pen,
how she tip-toes across the floor as I jot down my thoughts,
how she whirls as I spin webs of words,
how she leaps and bounds as I turn the pages,
how she flies as I write countless sentences,
how she smiles and bows as my ink runs out.
Oh, how beautiful a dance of words can be.
Coldplay - Ink
Chopin - Nocturne Op.9 No.2
Brian Crain - Rain
Alexander Desplat - The Meadow
Ludovico Einaudi - Oltremare
Ludovico Einaudi - Divenire
Yann Tiersen - L'absente
Yann Tiersen - Atlantique Nord
Yann Tiersen - Comptine d'un autre été: L'après midi
Beethoven - Fur Elise
The Cinematic Orchestra - Arrival of Birds & Transformation
Streams of dust
through an endless expanse.
I am the universe.
My first attempt at a haiku. I hope you like it!
Each brushstroke is a jumble of love, sorrow and rage.
His eyes are fixed on the sole thing that keeps him sane.
He strikes the canvas as his mind and heart burst into flames.
He hears the howling wind as blood slides down his face.
He knows that nothing will be the same.
He knows that the curse he bears will never be erased.
The voices inside his head make him cower in shame.
The crows above the wheat field watch him staggering towards his inevitable fate.
He smiles at his brother, concealing the throbbing pain.
He stares at the starry sky, wondering if the sadness will ever fade away.
Inspired by the trailer for the film Loving Vincent (especially the soundtrack). I really suggest you take a look at the trailer as I found it poignant and awe-inspiring.
I tried to depict his struggle with his illness. I hope you like it!
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
Drop the sword you wished to ******,
pick up the pen and let the words come out.
Let them leap and dance as much as you can,
even when spears press hard against your heart.
“Who are you?” They ask in disbelief.
“Why, of course.” You rise to your feet. “Je suis Charlie.”
I wrote this the day after the Charlie Hebdo attack. Violence should always be condemned.
— The End —