Monday, 3 April 2017

an Alzheimer's evening sonnet: (edit 1)

Childhood, early sixties, less populated times, less a flurry
for all that could be got, more a psychedelic dance as night skies
bewildered the innocent mind as if each twinkling star,
each marauding nebulae, was a whisper from gods,
long lost in time’s contacting funnel, to follow them, 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 summer nights,
and stare up at numerous stars so bright: now I have lost the gods
and so many humans fill this city, the stars appear to have shrunk
into themselves, old star-men and old star-women who twitch
as they scramble 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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