This is for you,
Not for the things you have done,
Not for battles lost or battles won,
This is for you,
For whom you are,
I know, sometimes she disappears,
Or you lose track, but she comes back,
This is for your bubble,
The place that is safe,
To do art, to enjoy life, to find that PEACE, sorry peace,
That passes, not life tests, instead
The peace that passes all understanding,
This is for you, it may not help when you are tired,
It may not make the sleepless nights go away,
This is for you, I understand the physical pain,
But we will hope, I will continue to pray, you will continue to gracefully dance,
a brush and paint and mixed media, all art, for others eyes to see,
so beautiful, yet for therapy,
To share your happy,
And for your own heart.
I don't think we were ever meant to retire,
I truly believe with the desire
To create beauty, until....eternity rises,
Like that slow moving elevator at the doctor's office.
©DWE012014
Our work place medically retired one of the most creative artistic minds available to them, the bureaucracy is poorer for the lack of her richness there, through policy they have lost more than they realize. I gave my wife this poem to honor her challenges that I have shared, but have not had to feel, standing beside someone with depression does not mean you feel it the way they do. Giving them a choice to leave on their own volition is fine, but when you say you'll fire them if they don't, is pitiful and shows the true colors of policy.