Any job you do not love
Is a job that never ends
The way to make it better
Is to share it with a friend
Category: Rhyming
We Are All Just Children
When I was a child, I knew how to fly
But I chose for myself a safer road
I trudged on through the tedium of life
With feet firm on the ground I bore life’s load
I let money and possessions rule me
Now where is the boy who knew how to live
Too afraid of what other people see
So frightened that I have nothing to give
Perhaps that is what is wrong with the world
Too afraid of what other people think
To be what we are, in the eyes of God
Innocent children playing on the brink
I will not slip into oblivion.
But kick and scratch to get every drop
Hold on to youthful ways and try to fly
Maybe I’ll fail, but I will never stop
Alzheimer’s
My wife and I have always been, for lack of a better word, loners. We have children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters that we dearly love. But we have always been nomads and spent our entire lives enjoying the company of each other. We are the best of friends. I wrote this poem quite awhile ago after watching a family member suffer from dementia. For my wife and I, our greatest fear would be to lose our memories of each other.
Alzheimer’s
Please old man you must let me be relieved
Let me go where I will not be abused
Old man you know it’s me they have deceived
My mind is silent waiting to be used
My memories, they are fading faster
It is my sadness that has been released
Old man you know that you are my master
Oh please…why won’t you let me find some peace?
So I will go to join their procession
But first there is someone that I must seek
She is standing, in love, right beside me
But our fingertips just don’t seem to meet
Her hair burns bright with the color of fire
She is standing in the night beside me
Is it my mottled mind, am I dreaming
Or is it that I just need to believe
Chemo Therapy
The endless waiting burns into his brain
Every tick of the clock drives him more insane
His life washes away with each wave of pain
His sorrow will not let him feel life again
His resolve is broke; nothing left to gain
Let death come he cried, no need to remain
Crochet
Red, orange, yellow, purple, blue and green;
The colors flow smoothly from her fingers
A rainbow of yarn like I’ve never seen
So absorbed in her I stop and linger
With every twist of her agile wrist
I watch intently as the afghan grows
Without looking, she creates every stitch
Then carefully crochets them into rows
The weight of it on her is comforting
Its warmth blocks out the chilly winter air
Still I can’t keep myself from wondering
Will it soon be too much for her to bear?
Jerry Brotherton 