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What Use, A Mindless Poet?
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Pain/Ilness Words came easy
cascaded freely
from nimble mind
thoughts formed
into perfect meaning, effortlessly.
Now...
I struggle to remember
to spell, to speak
to create as I did before.
Gray thick fog hovers inside my head
a mental battle commences.
Its worsening day by day
its thickening hour by hour
its clouding over pill by pill.
Such a frightening,
helpless feeling.
Just another downfall
of diseases that possess me.
They've conquered my body
now they seek my mind
...my soul,
discarding my 'gift'
along with the wrappings.
Will I become so consumed by fog
till nothing is visible inside my head?
Will words be lost to me forever
floating in heavy mist?
Will my vibrant ability waste away completely
to constant backwards words, jumbled thoughts?
they already are...they already have,
each day more apparant
each process more difficult.
What good a pen?
What worth an empty page?
What use, a mindless poet?
