Restored Poetry #archives #elderly #poetry #hospice

Hold me…

I am a broken, colorful

fragrant remnant

of yesterday

*

Remember me…

when I was alive, thriving

extracted from a beautiful

whole

*

Understand me…

for who I am today

a relic, don’t pull me

to pieces

*

Cherish me…

for what I was

and what will be

of a memory

Caring for the elderly is not an easy job. The hardest part is the decline. Enjoying each day and making a memory is important for both of us. Saying “goodbye” always hurts.

Thank a hospice nurse today!

Gravel Tears #sorrow #hospice #tears #elderly

I caught up with a tear today

it was from old despair

in attempt to grasp at it

it ran away from there

*

pain’s etched upon a heart

at death we cannot grasp

it leaves on wind before we know

our hands one final clasp

*

I caught up with a tear today

mingled with old despair

again I tried to grasp at it

it ran away from there

*

no more wrinkles from this life

we smooth your silver hair

behind you it is over now

beyond all time and care

*

I caught up with a tear today

it fell with yours you see

when I tried to grasp at it

it ran away with thee

 

Hospice a word that says so little of the days the slip through our fingers as we say little goodbyes each day. Each goodbye takes a piece of my heart that I give lovingly and painfully.

 

All for the Last Time #poetry #cancer #photography

 

While he is living all his firsts

steps that rockforth  and tumble

words that jumble into Da and Ma

terrible two tempers that rumble

colored flecks in baby eyes

I’ll never know where his future lies

I will be living my lasts

springtime  never been greener

revealing the bulbs with my gardening rake

easter eggs treasures my grandson and I hunt

blowing out the last candles on my cake

placing the last pictures from my past

I will be parting with too few goodbyes

laying my walking friend away

wanting one more dawn to see love in your eyes

so many words I need to say

friends to enjoy hug’s last memory

it’s the last time in my rocker I’ll  cry

walking stick

 

This poem was tearfully begotten after hearing that a young woman (of 19) with a toddler is losing her mother to cancer. There is something so poignant about breathing your last sea salt day and never having time to take pictures of your grandchildren.

 

 

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