I look back to that time
when  joys were simple,
before
awareness of pain
and suffering
had started
to leave their mark.

Where have they gone,
those times of
yesteryear?
How do I rediscover
those simple joys,
experienced
before the aches
and tribulations
of adult life
had intervened?

Alas
the past
continually advances;
the future recedes.
There will be
less and less to
anticipate,
and more and more
to recall.


The future is a foreign country
and I don’t speak the language.

She came back.
Briefly.
Back from mind and heart.
Back into my
actuality.

The initial shock
of external appearance
immediately
transposed itself
into the feeling of
habitual love.

There was no alteration
beyond the
superficiality
of her changed deportment.
The strength of character,
the courage to face
unflinchingly
the extremities of
physical discomfort
and pain . . .
none of this in any way
differed
from the recalled
determination
that inspires
the admiration
and the adoration
in which she is held.

She is not a survivor.
She is a victor.

The transience
of everyday events.

The fear
that much experience
will pass me by.

These fleeting concerns
disturb my waking hours
and interrupt my sleep.

I lack a strength
of purpose.
I deplore
the weakness of my mind;
the doubts
that happiness will yet return;
that new growth of spirit
will spring from old;
that I will retain the faith
to go on building
from every death
that decimates my world.

And
I owe a debt.
I have a commitment.
I must maintain the will
to go on fighting.
I must retain the hope
that life and love
may yet be won.

And I must accept the fact
that dogmas may vanish,
that temples may fall,
that ikons may crumble,
and credence
may moulder.

But
Earth Abides

Before I lay myself to rest
there are mountains I must climb.
Before I go, I must construct
the perfect paradigm.
There are bridges that I have to cross
and rivers I must ford;
and metaphorically at last
cut the umbilical cord.

Those things that I have left undone
from my long bucket list
must rapidly be tackled before
they can be dismissed.
And superficially at least
are tasks that need to be addressed,
and any sins remaining
that need to be confessed.

I will not go gentle.
I will shout and scream
and beat my breast,
withstand all mental
pressures that would seem
to put me to the test.
It will suffice just to resist
the forces that will persecute,
and, knowing I have done my best,
shall raise my fist
into a victory salute
and stay defiant to the last.

.
Dreams follow strange patterns:
They appear and disappear
both sleeping and awake,
And while we are in their thrall
they place gossamer
fingers on our
imagination.
And when they go
they do not go quickly;
they die
little
by
little.

The discovery of a small dead bird
this morning on my balcony
induced a totally unexpected
but keenly felt
feeling of deep loss.

Had it flown into
the reflected sunlight
of the French windows?

   *      *

Where are my French windows?

I remember saying:
“If you notice
Any change in me,
Any loss of faculties,
Any lapse of memory
Any sign of frailty,
Any sudden disability,
Promise, promise, promise
You will bring it to
My attention.”

But he never did.

Now he suffers from
The onset
Of his own dementia
And I have made
No comment on it.