There is no measurement for the depth of grief
That one endures to watch the decline
Of a loved one, watching her slip into
That quicksand of dementia.
Day after day, deeper and deeper down
That person sinks into that vacuous
Sinkhole of darkness and, I am helpless
In my ability to rescue her.
I stand on the perimeter of that
Mental quagmire reaching for her hand she,
Though I am her husband, declines afraid
To take the hand of a stranger. In my
Denial, I see some hope for there are days
That she is cognizant, or so it seems.
Then, she slides deeper into that yawning,
Cavernous, bottomless, abyss of night
Wherein she disappears.
just wanted you to know i am thinking of you..............if briefly. bri :)
Lynn, re Poet's Notes: did your wife die or is she alive but more-or-less-dead to her surroundings, including you? either way, grief is certainly a fitting 'topic'. 'favorite lines': I stand on the perimeter of that Mental quagmire reaching for her hand she, Though I am her husband, declines afraid To take the hand of a stranger. bri :) i have assumed this is a true account from your marital life, and you have now my condolences. if not, you have fooled me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
With no connection between Lynn and me for a LONG time, I assume he has died or is otherwise 'unavailable'. ; ( The poem is superb, as many of Lynn's are/were. I shall share it. bri ;)