One night my love and I were out observing the constellations
When from nowhere we hear to our consternation
Incessant notes of outrageous declaration.
My love and I upon closer clandestine inspection
Observe a drunken troubadour torturing such inflection
As to sour the deafest of men upon hearing such disconnection.
As we run hand in hand unaware of our direction,
Pelting objects sound crushing the object of our disaffection.

Natural decline, bringing about an age of being fallible,
The subtle shift from youth to middle age to being an elder,
Now using motion in economy, to prevent instability.
The vagaries of age, reducing confidence to hesitance,
as a step forward is an accomplishment once beneath notice.
Many rarely notice the shift in abilities of those close to them,
until sudden traumas occur, bringing them harshly to light.
But those living them daily, have learned to compensate as they can.
Either abhorring the day before them or embracing it as a challenge.
I pray as I move close to this eventuallity, that I see the challenge,
the possibilities for growth and learning in the subtleties of aging.

Peeking out the window
On all Hallow's Eve
Watching little Globlins
Skip about with glee.

Witch's and warlocks
traveling the streets
Looking so scary
Asking for treats.

Dinos and gators
fairies and elves,
scurry about
frightening themselves.

The sun grows dim,
the porchlight shines,
the ghouls and monsters
scowl just fine.

Creatures a-plenty
Come out to play
Once each year
for All Hallow's Day.

Sitting quietly at the table, held in place by rusted shackles,
Embracing my bone-like phalanges in death's grip.
At the fringes of my vision, I note a horrid little creature,
Attempting to circumvent the Master's desire to flay me to pieces.
Begging for my life, as he fears dark aloneness in this drear abode.
The septum wall of my heart barely containing my blood,
As it pounds through its chambers, racing to my extremities, only to return once more,
more slowly, to be reinvigorated with vital oxygen again.
Eyes glazing as the Master approaches, demanding why I should be spared,
When I have disobeyed him, sparing that family from death's harsh embrace.
Shaking in this stone cold chair, my posterior aching from hours of discomfort,
I can only beg mercy of a merciless creature, who's only need of me, is absolute obeyance.
My only ability to coax unsuspecting families to relinquish their souls for this foul creatures pleasure.
My heart recognizing how low I have become to continue with this wretched life.
And, finally with the only spark of humanity remaining to me, I scream my defiance,
And as I had hoped, received a final blow, releasing me from this plane.

15 to 20 times a day, with minor variation,
I review these questions, via oration.

"Do you hear voices?"
"Do you see visions?"
"Are you paranoid?"
"Are you suicidal?"
"Are you homicidal?"
"How is your energy level?"
"How is your mood?"
"Depressed?"
"Anxious?"
"Irritable?"
"Mood swings?"
"How is your concentration?"
"How is your appetite?"
"How are you sleeping?"
"Do you have racing or disorganized thoughts?"
"Do you have shaking or tremors?"

Reviewing meds, assessing situations,
Discussing reactions, discussing relations.

Monotony could well become a factor,
I'm easily bored, easily distracted,

But every single time I ask these questions,
I learn something new and think up a suggestion.

Everyday is the same, Going through the motions,
And yet, I'm never bored, and I have a notion.

Everyone is different, No answer the same,
Sorting through the verbage, looking for that grain.

The single detail to tell me what can be done,
To find a better system to assist each one.

Slow and methodical, and yet amazing in variation,
Questions and answers, a myriad of striation.