British Columbia, Canada
This is indeed about a very real person, and is for Serenity's people watching poetry challenge.
It is just sad there are so many victims of this disease who don't get a poem. Ben got moved from regular care to restrained care over the weekend, so sad, so very sad when this happens. Some Kind Of Madness
Today was a new day, a new place,
And I was so nervous for the first time.
I loved this man, and knew in my heart
This change would be his sentence to death.
His, shellacked, and life-cracked skin
Appeared to form somewhat of a grin.
As one bony finger, so long ago useful
Trembled its way up the wall to find it.
So many levels of history on that wall.
His life lined that sterile surface like an old quilt.
Scenes of picnics, family portraits, ships,
Now so dusty and faded with time hung there.
We watched as some recollection now took him,
Reflections of his joy long past now seen clearly
In the face of the photo he looked at.
I swore he smiled, if only for only an instant.
His daughter whispered, as if he could not hear,
“Once his memory shone as the stars in heaven,
His stories filled our hearts with such love.
Oh how we so miss the days of his youth repeated.”
I said, “Well why not share them with him now?
Take him there once more in bits and pieces.”
She didn’t understand, and said,
“I do all I can do to just visit him.”
I had heard this so many times before.
Today, in disinfected, striped pajamas,
His slippers on wrong feet,
He perused his new surroundings
Then…he reached the bars on the window
And his head dropped into his hands in a sob.
His daughter swiftly knelt at his feet
But Ben’s head would not rise up
I knew in my heart, How could it?
They'd finally taken the last thing he owned.
Ben usually walked out into the night
Not knowing where he was going or why really.
Some followed him in search of
What no one knows, but they went anyway.
There are some that say
Each night he remembered her face.
What was construed as some kind of madness
Was really Ben, and his wife of 60 years,
Dancing on the lawn under the moonlight.
Tonight he sits in front of that window,
Knowing in his fractured mind,
He will never leave that room, but,
Perhaps she will find him tonight?
Each time I cut his hair, I tell him stories.
Antics of my granddaughters, the cat, the news.
Today, there was not one single story in me,
I was too filled with sorrow and anger,
At some kind of madness.
Sure, I wear rose-colored glasses, makes everything just rosey. Carpe' Diem
[This message has been edited by Mysteria (08-19-2003 06:54 PM).]