( for a friend of mine who is slowing passing from a rare brain disease)

It is still

all around

you,



like a black

tar it

clings to

your bones

and hopes.



like a cold

wind it

blows and

echoes

through

your soul.



certainly not

a gift,

but a curse.



incurable

a marking

on your

young life

written on

a wall

in a cavern

deep

inside

yourself.



and sometimes

at blackest

night

it is

a place

you feel

you have

to go.



but I

say this.



"take my

hand and

let us

go this

way other

way instead."