I
Incontinent … in fetal fold,
Curled up—no smile, no memory;
Although alive, you're not your past.
My wife, your life, like silent shell;
My life—forlorn; fond memories
Are all I hold, while such you lack.
Our daughter mourns, her mother dear,
As shattered shape, as tears lament.
I'd grant my soul to have the heal,
Reclaim lost time to us as ‘fore,
I'll stroke your hand, caress your breath,
I love you dear, but loathe your living death.
II
Proteins and life misfold … despair,
Detested taint of Alzheimer,
Disease of time, cruel thief of life.
My father pains, two souls in ruin,
He clasps your hand, and strokes your hair,
He looks with solemn hope, and angst,
Yet all has left; mere vacant shape
Remains. Devoid of content … thought,
Lost reservoir of time,
A withered waste of life decay,
No joys from time, mere empty breath;
I love you mom … abhor this living death.
III
It's so unfair, as life unfolds.
I am your son, and you love-ed me;
You took me to my hockey games,
And helped me through, concussions too.
That birthday cake, that barbeque,
Cascade of time, in better times,
Stays safe with me, though gone from you;
Sis/dad, you/me—all four of us,
On holiday, the trips, the laughs;
Now sister cries, I'd like to, too,
I need to grieve, but you have breath,
I miss my mom, and hate your lingering death.