How pathetic is it
that the beach calls me to walk, to run
the ocean singing its familiar chant
but my body refuses to join in the song?
My weak body giving out
before reaching my destination
my only solace a cold chair
with a good view.
*
Early morning low tide
birds and rock hunters walking alone
Sun peeking over the cliffs
tickling the distant waves with golden sparkles
The world still and calm
no breeze to chill the air or stir the sand
On a wooden bench I sit
with my adjectives as company.
*
Tooth and nail
fighting the ravages of time
even as I sit in this chair
scared of my disease
stealing from me
what independence and dignity
I have managed to retain thus far
frightened of becoming nothing more
than an empty shell
a shadow of who I am now.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Chimera: a poetry collection
PoesíaThis is the world where I grow my inner poet: no holds barred as long as I think it's safe for public consumption. All poems will be dated with the original creation date, so if I post things out of order (a highly likely occurrence), all my reader...
