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Alzheimer's


incantation

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incantation

I still read sonnets
But cannot count syllables,
Deliver fire from the
Eyes of angels who counted ten fires,

Will the verses of my life be preserved.

I Paint heaven from
The view of my mother's
Womb. No one can
Help me to excavate dreams
Of rusting suns, desolate
Train tracks passing the
Running eyes of time.

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Good one, Barry! This one sounds like it should be dedicated to me:

4 hours ago, incantation said:

 

I still read sonnets
But cannot count syllables

 

As for this:

4 hours ago, incantation said:

Will the verses of my life be preserved.

Only here. 
 

And this reads like me from another lifetime, so far away, so long ago:

4 hours ago, incantation said:

… No one can
Help me to excavate dreams
Of rusting suns, desolate
Train tracks passing the
Running eyes of time.

Nice work, great read, as always. 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Very poignant, and a little heart-wrenching in its introspection. The imagery well chosen and aptly revelatory in its support of the title. You capture the sadness of loss even anticipated. As to what time will make of efforts, no writer ever knows. This poem touches upon the heart of human experience significantly, as good as it gets in poetry.

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Barry,  This is one of your best ever. I felt the confusion, the uncertainty.    Reading the piece tells the story. 

I think the title gives it away and this is just my opinion but, if it were mine, I'd grace it with a more mysterious title.   Alzhiemer's is a mystery.   

~~Tink

~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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The lines-"the view of my mother's womb" confused me for a split second until I realized, Yes! the return to childhood so often experienced by Alzheimer's sufferers, or perhaps stretching it, to rebirth.  I've been thinking about the title too, and it is often something more poetic might enhance the poem. But the word-Alzheimers- is so loaded to anyone that hears it, loaded with dread, fear, compassion, it is powerful in itself. And surrounds the substance of the poem.  Just my 2cents, Judi, I can't think of a better title.

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