I'm so sorry for the grief you are experiencing. I honestly believe as we age we think more about eternity because we are closer now to the next life than the life we came from. Beautiful, honest write.
Probably the most research money goes into heart disease. That's when healthy men on the golf course, young and feeling great, have a heart attack and die, without ever going through all that misery and decline that accompanies aging. Methinks that is a better way to go.
On the other hand, your poem describes one of many ailments that age tends to give us that grow in intensity until they can be like a living hell. Medicine here is rather palliative rather than curative and often does not overcome the pain and disability very well at all. We certainly should have a say when enough is enough. Dr. Kevorkian, where are you when we need you?
A very compelling and meaningful poem, Lark. Oddly, or coincidentally, I recently wrote (started writing, actually) a poem also entitled, "Fading." Love, peace, and best wishes to you and yours,
Regis. 🌺🍁
P.S. This is the start to the poem in question:
Fading
My heart is broken
Shards of love
Strewn about my existence
It is not life
Without you
All is fading
An injured bird
Its wing broken
Like my heart
Waiting
Hope fading...
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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And Hope lends its energy to renewed Health...
Sending Love...and happier thoughts...
Diana...
On the other hand, your poem describes one of many ailments that age tends to give us that grow in intensity until they can be like a living hell. Medicine here is rather palliative rather than curative and often does not overcome the pain and disability very well at all. We certainly should have a say when enough is enough. Dr. Kevorkian, where are you when we need you?
Ron
the aches the pains the lapses
the faulty synapses
gasping for air
I hope it doesn't end this way.
Much love to you, Lark.
Regis. 🌺🍁
P.S. This is the start to the poem in question:
Fading
My heart is broken
Shards of love
Strewn about my existence
It is not life
Without you
All is fading
An injured bird
Its wing broken
Like my heart
Waiting
Hope fading...