Notes About The Poem
Thsi is for my Dad, going through vascular dementia.
What Is It Part I
What Is It
1.
The man who was my father sits
Wearing the face that will be mine,
Brooding in a place I cannot reach
In a time and space I'll never know
Speaks,when he does, as he never did before.
And so it comes to this, in the end
At least for far too many;
Live long enough,
The mind wearies of its ceaseless
Chasing after things,
Turns in, settles into the greyish No-Mans' Land
Of its Long-Ago,
The attics where the past lives on,
Where the fond and familiar reside.
Not so bad to settle there, I suppose,
Where everything moves through a better light,
Where the rough and uncertain
Goes smoothed and simplified;
The familiar rules, the strange is banned.
The price though, the loss, the erasure
Of so much of the Now;
All that which has travelled with you
Faded to obscurity
And you live among the unknown ghosts.
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