The one who should have lived has gone so fast.
The old ones, in their dotage, linger on –
they, with no future, live only in the past.

And we who can but sit, dumb and aghast,
scarcely believe that while the sun still shone
the one who should have lived has gone so fast.

Six decades older, surviving to their last
few days or years, together but alone,
they, with no future, live only in the past.

At least she kept on living to the last,
but should have had a future. She has none.
The one who should have lived has gone so fast,

and they, for whom so many years have passed,
are unaware that one they loved is gone.
They, with no future, live only in the past,

mark time until the final trumpet blast,
and never know the respite they have won.
The one who should have lived has gone so fast.
They, with no future, live only in the past.

I remember when you tucked me in
and would kiss me on the head
you'd leave the bedroom door just so
the hallway light just touched my bed

The monsters would all stay away
While the light was on you said
They were stuck behind the closet door
And if they touched the light...they're dead

Now, the years have passed us by
And our roles are re-arranged
Now, I do the tucking in
But, the story hasn't changed

I tuck you in, and kiss your head
And then you go to sleep
The monsters all are hidden
In the closet....so so deep

There's times you may remember me
But, many times...there's not
Your eyes will barely flicker
You can barely hold a thought

The monsters are inside you
From the closet, they have come
You may not know just who I am
But, you'll always be my Mum

Now, it's time to get tucked in
And for me to kiss you on the head
I'm gonna pull the door just so
The light....protects your bed.

I'm on the runway,
Taxiing as they say;
But I can't remember
If I'm coming or going;
Deporting or boarding;
Lifting off or landing.
All runways look alike,
All security checks the same;
I'll know where I'm going
When I reach the baggage claim.

I'm still quietly rotting away,
I hope no one notices,
I hope no one prays.
This old soul requires no pity,
Ancient soul of no regret.
Dying mind, but still thoughts of fluidity.
I see the flakes, flying visible every sunset,
My skin is tearing away,
My heart fails too,
I hear less throbs each day.
Grateful am I, of the absence of tears,
The absence of fears.
I can willingly walk 'till the end of the light,
I can walk happily to the dark at the end of this tunnel,
Thankful, that I am not that old I'd have to crawl.
I feel, on this day, my last,
As if I was sixteen again, spending my first night right here, under the wooden bench,
'Lo how quickly 16 becomes 60,
How quickly does 60 become 0?
I know there is no one I've left behind,
No sentimental article of comfort; of value,
Except, perhaps,
The cold, wooden bench at the south side of the park,
Or that beautiful bluebird that sings from his fountain,
Or perhaps,
The stinging, black spots I see when I look at the sun,
Or the feel of warm earth under my fingernails,
Perhaps I'll miss it all,
And imagine I'm back at the park,
When I'd truly be emflammed; burning,
Or perhaps, hopefully,
I'd just be moving from one park to the next,
One life to the next,
Nothing between, but death,
A small, trifle thing,
The largest of fears that is to be overcome,
If I am to be rewarded,
If I am to finally be at peace, true peace,
If I am to belong,
Anywhere, but this park.
                                             -firefly

Today I introduced myself to my mum again.
Knowing she has no remembrance of me caused a lot of pain.
It’s harder now than ever because with time
She’s lost 98% of her memory and is losing more as the clocks chime.
But I went in and read her favourite book as I held her hand,
and to her I sung her favourite song by her beloved band
knowing it would put a smile on her face
as with love my heartbeat grew quicker pace by pace.
I asked her “may I have this dance?”
And we waltzed around the nursing home garden taking a chance.
I did all this because although her brain is fading away,
She is human and she’s the only one who’s loved me always.
Now it’s time for me to visit and look after her each and every day
so that she’s never alone as the end is on its way.

You told me I could fall asleep
Laying on your chest,
The rise
And fall
Of your breathing
Urging me to rest.

The unearthly zephyr sang stridulant verses
Transuding through the window
The hibernal ghost couldn’t touch you or I,
Underneath our lullaby.
Thwack.
Awake.
You wrapped your fingers around my neck
The skin red and raw
You screeched to me, questioned who I was
The only word that escaped was ‘more’

The concavity of where you laid
Was warm under my heavy skull
My thoughts drifted
To the beat of your feet
Silently
Inevitably
Creeping
Away.

The light bled through the pullulating slit
Where you disdained me a final time
You left without knowing you’d left a thing
Call it forgetting.
Theft.
Crime.

Where was this cryptic noise conceived?
I wondered that a while
It was your flesh
Your bones and blood
Your heart and soul
Your child.

In the labyrinth inside my mind,
Sometimes my thoughts get lost.
I search down long dark tunnels
Where old memories are tossed
Like antiques in the attic, that
I can’t bear to throw away
Saved forever just in case
I need them again some day!

And as I age these memories
Show up at the strangest times
But there is no one there to talk to
So I turn them into rhymes
And hope some day that someone
Might discover them and see
That my poems are about my life
My poems are ‘bout me!

When age finally blocks the tunnel -
I no longer can break through
And I’m trapped inside with memories
And nothing left to do
But stare out through the window
Or at the closed front door,
Know I’m still inside the labyrinth
And I wish I’d written more!
Phil Lindsey 9/14/15

My mind is a                ghost house,
Haunted by souls still trying t
   still here
o be found.
Some live
  still
Others,
       mere vapours
still here
Exhale, then die, and resurrect in technicolour,
Only to expire

again

Like candles in an unexpected breeze.
The windows were left open

In the dark, the spectres
still.