MUSE’S ENDING
So, this how it ends
Inarticulate gesticulation
With palsied limbs.
Iambic pentameter distillations of
Rambling formulation of my life’s wisdom
Stuttered out in trochaic counter-point.
Communication buried illegibly beneath
The work of mutinous of arthritic fingers
That no longer write nor type nor draw.
Inconsequential prologue
Unshakable sorrow as what
I have created or composed,
Felt, written or built is walled
Into a tomb and I become
As one dead before time…
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Gradually, I found myself unable to write, even my signature, about 1998. With my hand splint, I can still type, very badly, with one finger. But, I am now writing more than ever with my voice.
If you have a computer, and I know you do to be able to post here, loosen your pocketbook and buy a copy of Dragon NaturallySpeaking (for the PC) or Dragon Dictate (for the Mac). And then, make sure that you take a little time to teach yourself how to use unfamiliar software (old dogs can learn new tricks if they try) and before you know it, you'll be a poet (once again).
If you're just writing about old age and not in it, like me… Never mind!
Ron