Tuesday, 28 March 2017

An Alzheimer's evening sonnet:

Childhood, early sixties, less populated times, less a flurry
of all that could be got, more a dance, a release, the night skies
bewildered the innocent mind as if each twinkling star,
each marauding nebulae, was a whisper from gods long lost
in time’s funnel to follow them into the dark and discover
the source of light; my sister and I, dizzy from whirling
because the atoms in our bodies demanded movement,
would fall to the grass, the crickets serenading the whole night,
and stare up at numerous stars so bright: now I have lost the gods
and so many humans fill this city, the stars appear less, dwindled,
shrunken into themselves, old star-men and old star- women
twitching, scrambling for memories of those faraway days
while fearful, lost in the terror of the bewildering present
and above their grey heads the stars fade further from view.

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