New Year's Eve. 2008.
Who will take grandma, now that she's old?
Her songs are all sung, her stories untold.
Her lifetime of labour is far in the past,
(such labour these days would leave young folk aghast.)
In a sickbed she lingers, not sure of her name,
these cards dealt by fate are a terrible shame.
Bones covered in skin, she's so frail and so old,
I ask her to eat, but she just won't be told.
No good to force food, or any drinks either,
all she wants me to do, is to sit there beside her.
Assistance is needed in all that she does,
if I nip to the loo, she causes a fuss.
Loneliness and fear pervade that once active mind,
(in her day she was selfish, and very unkind.)
As she grew older, these traits simply grew,
to be honest, my memories of kindness are few.
Old mother, you lie there, I sit and I stare,
and ask myself why I am still here to care:-
Mother's childhood secrets she ne'er left behind,
her earliest years were quite black and unkind.
In a cruel Childrens' "Home" she spent a few years,
rarely spoke of those days, her anguish and fears.
Tragic memories I know, are eating her brain,
she thinks she is back in those dark days again.
Recent years are the ones that she just can't remember,
today on the thirty first of December.
As life nears its ending, she should have some peace,
how I long for a legal, anaesthetic release...
Two thousand and eight will end at midnight,
please take her with you, somewhere peaceful and light.
Poetry by normalil
Read 1119 times
Written on 2009-01-01 at 14:32
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Let Out the Old, Ring in the New.
Who will take grandma, now that she's old?
Her songs are all sung, her stories untold.
Her lifetime of labour is far in the past,
(such labour these days would leave young folk aghast.)
In a sickbed she lingers, not sure of her name,
these cards dealt by fate are a terrible shame.
Bones covered in skin, she's so frail and so old,
I ask her to eat, but she just won't be told.
No good to force food, or any drinks either,
all she wants me to do, is to sit there beside her.
Assistance is needed in all that she does,
if I nip to the loo, she causes a fuss.
Loneliness and fear pervade that once active mind,
(in her day she was selfish, and very unkind.)
As she grew older, these traits simply grew,
to be honest, my memories of kindness are few.
Old mother, you lie there, I sit and I stare,
and ask myself why I am still here to care:-
Mother's childhood secrets she ne'er left behind,
her earliest years were quite black and unkind.
In a cruel Childrens' "Home" she spent a few years,
rarely spoke of those days, her anguish and fears.
Tragic memories I know, are eating her brain,
she thinks she is back in those dark days again.
Recent years are the ones that she just can't remember,
today on the thirty first of December.
As life nears its ending, she should have some peace,
how I long for a legal, anaesthetic release...
Two thousand and eight will end at midnight,
please take her with you, somewhere peaceful and light.
Poetry by normalil
Read 1119 times
Written on 2009-01-01 at 14:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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ngaio Beck |
