I'm still quietly rotting away,
I hope no one notices,
I hope no one prays.
This old soul requires no pity,
Ancient soul of no regret.
Dying mind, but still thoughts of fluidity.
I see the flakes, flying visible every sunset,
My skin is tearing away,
My heart fails too,
I hear less throbs each day.
Grateful am I, of the absence of tears,
The absence of fears.
I can willingly walk 'till the end of the light,
I can walk happily to the dark at the end of this tunnel,
Thankful, that I am not that old I'd have to crawl.
I feel, on this day, my last,
As if I was sixteen again, spending my first night right here, under the wooden bench,
'Lo how quickly 16 becomes 60,
How quickly does 60 become 0?
I know there is no one I've left behind,
No sentimental article of comfort; of value,
Except, perhaps,
The cold, wooden bench at the south side of the park,
Or that beautiful bluebird that sings from his fountain,
Or perhaps,
The stinging, black spots I see when I look at the sun,
Or the feel of warm earth under my fingernails,
Perhaps I'll miss it all,
And imagine I'm back at the park,
When I'd truly be emflammed; burning,
Or perhaps, hopefully,
I'd just be moving from one park to the next,
One life to the next,
Nothing between, but death,
A small, trifle thing,
The largest of fears that is to be overcome,
If I am to be rewarded,
If I am to finally be at peace, true peace,
If I am to belong,
Anywhere, but this park.
                                             -firefly

Today I introduced myself to my mum again.
Knowing she has no remembrance of me caused a lot of pain.
It’s harder now than ever because with time
She’s lost 98% of her memory and is losing more as the clocks chime.
But I went in and read her favourite book as I held her hand,
and to her I sung her favourite song by her beloved band
knowing it would put a smile on her face
as with love my heartbeat grew quicker pace by pace.
I asked her “may I have this dance?”
And we waltzed around the nursing home garden taking a chance.
I did all this because although her brain is fading away,
She is human and she’s the only one who’s loved me always.
Now it’s time for me to visit and look after her each and every day
so that she’s never alone as the end is on its way.

You told me I could fall asleep
Laying on your chest,
The rise
And fall
Of your breathing
Urging me to rest.

The unearthly zephyr sang stridulant verses
Transuding through the window
The hibernal ghost couldn’t touch you or I,
Underneath our lullaby.
Thwack.
Awake.
You wrapped your fingers around my neck
The skin red and raw
You screeched to me, questioned who I was
The only word that escaped was ‘more’

The concavity of where you laid
Was warm under my heavy skull
My thoughts drifted
To the beat of your feet
Silently
Inevitably
Creeping
Away.

The light bled through the pullulating slit
Where you disdained me a final time
You left without knowing you’d left a thing
Call it forgetting.
Theft.
Crime.

Where was this cryptic noise conceived?
I wondered that a while
It was your flesh
Your bones and blood
Your heart and soul
Your child.

In the labyrinth inside my mind,
Sometimes my thoughts get lost.
I search down long dark tunnels
Where old memories are tossed
Like antiques in the attic, that
I can’t bear to throw away
Saved forever just in case
I need them again some day!

And as I age these memories
Show up at the strangest times
But there is no one there to talk to
So I turn them into rhymes
And hope some day that someone
Might discover them and see
That my poems are about my life
My poems are ‘bout me!

When age finally blocks the tunnel -
I no longer can break through
And I’m trapped inside with memories
And nothing left to do
But stare out through the window
Or at the closed front door,
Know I’m still inside the labyrinth
And I wish I’d written more!
Phil Lindsey 9/14/15

My mind is a                ghost house,
Haunted by souls still trying t
   still here
o be found.
Some live
  still
Others,
       mere vapours
still here
Exhale, then die, and resurrect in technicolour,
Only to expire

again

Like candles in an unexpected breeze.
The windows were left open

In the dark, the spectres
still.

her eyes,
once warm with love
are now empty
filled with fear and confusion

her hands
once soft and tender to touch
are now cold
grasping onto the remains of life

her body
once able to waltz with such elegance and grace
are now two distant concepts
left behind almost as an irretrievable memory

her brain
once able to acknowledge even the darkest concepts
remains clueless as
she looks blankly at the term 'dementia'

I like the little one.

They are ready so if someone
Comes down here, and says
they, I, well,
would like to see what youve got
I may be interested in them,
in buying some
I'd say, well, sure
so they can look, and see if there is anything they want to purchase.

And they may decide it's nothing they want,
maybe they don't have anything with them
I won't take that
and that's fine by me.
I like the little one.

We made sure t have them all be different
i said, what'S the point if they're the same
I have three metal ones
Can you, well, make sure they are
so nobody will knock them over
so someone can look at all of them and
they won't break.

I got those bells because I enjoy them.
I used to place them around the house so
people could enjoy them
they are in that so people come down here, They can see.

they meant something to me, but nobody else.
and that's fine.
well, if it means something to you, that matters
Yeah.

echoing images pass through aged eyelids.
through deadened nerve and grey matter.
leaving themselves in limbo.
hanging in air.
floating.
captured only in fleeting stills on pages.
unrecognizable.
clouded in murky after thought.
"Remind me again of who that was," it begins.
"Do I know them," it continues.
and with confused silence it ends.

Is it worse to continue to remind someone of what once was
than to just let me go?

I want to learn everything; everything comprises of everything,
be it the knowledge of the nature or the horizons of the cosmos
I want to canvas over the universe, multiverses;
to paint my reality with a brush of joy.
But, it's tough for me, because I'm dementic
If I decline it while inclining towards a book
Dyslexia obliterates my desires and hurt me badly
If I ignore all this, ADHD comes forward to poke me
with a stick of astounds and pains of eventide
If I cut down the roots of ADHD, S.A.D greets me
and enter to my dark world and enhance its darkness
I'm confused, shattered; directionless in a myopic way
Highly myopic, no direction, but I do have vision
I want to crisscross my myopia to an extent
where it diminishes.
Meningitis, shut up, you *******,
Please have mercy on me, I don't deserve U at least,
But do I really need someone to have mercy on me?
I guess no, I can build my own world where
Dementia strengthens my spirits by saying,
Why just Embryology, what secrets do you want to find
Ova is not dependent on a ****** *****,
it is a complete YOU.