In the dark of early morning I lie awake
My mind is restless
My body twisted and uncomfortable
I try to sleep
Images of memories my pictorial past
My children
Faces and postures, incidents and occasions
Flip like a slideshow
The memories begin to fade, followed by words
Desperate words
Reaching out into my mind and beyond
The words long to be spoken
Oh my children my words are for you!
Waning for you is my role
The words carry the thoughts and experiences
Capsules of living
I will write the words and hope they are spoken
Even if whispered
I will hope that they are spoken
To you
3 comments:
Hi Julius,
What you "didn't" say in this poem spoke more to me than what you "did" say....
Especially this line: "I will hope that they are spoken..."
You left so much unsaid ... Why?
Sue xxx
HI sue, why ? . Coz he is J ! The strong and silent type! ha . best wishes xxx alg. x I know what he means!
I relate very well to this poem, Julius. You have written before about cocooning and the sense that time is running out. These, I think, are common emotions linked to physical disability. It's just that we have to be pretty hard pressed before we express them. If it's any consolation, nothing happens that cannot be woven into the texture of our lives. The intellect makes meaning out of chaos. You would know this from observing weird ice formations in the Antarctic, I'm sure.
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