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Altzhiemers: Thief of Light

My good old friend is a prisoner
tortured by his own sharpest tool
The shadows of Altzhiemers
Throwing a cloak of darkness
Over his bright green eyes
Eyes that I regularly looked to
For wisdom and sage advice
Forty-five years of our adventures
And brotherhood still live in
His soul and somewhere in
His ravaged brain, bringing
Smiles each time I come to visit
I can’t hold his hand in mine because
even light touch makes him wince in pain
But, I tell him stories from
Back in the day that brings him
To laughter and visible joy for
One fabulous moment of recognition
He is an incredibly wealthy man
Whose family built great railroads
That connected the country from
Coast to coast, governed states
Served as wartime ambassadors
Founded banking dynasties and
Designated him a black sheep
We spent lots of time at his beautiful
880-acre ranch at almost 9000 ft in
Buckhorn Canyon, on the 
Border of Rocky Mountain Park
A 150-acre farm in Bellevue as well
As a home in Belize for diving trips
I sit at a table with him before a
Picture window that looks out at
The Bellvue Dome cliffs where
for many centuries of verbal history
Native American tribes chased herds of
Bison off the edge for the women
Below to skin, stretch and preserve 
wisely preparing for winter to come
As I get up from the table to leave
I’m overwhelmed by grief because
My old friend is lost within his shadows
And I have no idea if I’ll ever
See HIM again...

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