I work up from a dream last night and this was in my head. I had to write it straight down. I was left wondering if it was an omen? I’ve had a few friends who have gone down with dementia. It’s a scary thought. All we are melts away layer by layer.

I don’t believe in omens or portents. This was probably my conscious response to the frustration of getting older. You feel your body and mind slow, robbed of energy. The words that once shot into your mind now languish on the periphery and have to be rounded up like stray steer.

It is like your brain is now full of tiny holes, as if acid was slowly burning it away.

Getting older is not pleasant. You just do what you have to do. The alternative is not attractive.

It was a bit too bloody morbid!

A Stroke of the head

Part of me died,

I don’t remember what.

Inside is a void

That used to hold a lot.

It left me with a fear

Of what will surely be.

 

There’s an acid here

That is eroding me.

It’s taking me by bits

Blotting out the where,

The jig-saw puzzle fits

Now transparent as the air.

 

My brain’s becoming cheese

Full of mighty holes

Through which there is a breeze

Where memory now lolls.

 

There’s a cold spot

In my sun

That’s no longer hot

And isn’t any fun.

 

I’m moved to helpless tears

And dreadful wondering when;

The unrelenting fears

That it will happen once again.

 

It’s the beginning of the end

The start of the decay.

Like losing a close friend –

I’m falling away.

 

There are holes in this rigging

That the wind blows through.

I’ll need some rejigging –

More than a patch or two.

 

It’s robbed me of confidence

And dumped me on the floor.

No longer rushing hence,

Not going out the door.

 

There’s a new void in my head

That’s made me wonder why

It’s filled me with lead.

Now all I do is sigh.

13.7.2015