A Moment from the Past

His calloused carpenter hands held my face still. Emotion took over his strong brown eyes. Time seemed to stand still as he searched for his words. His whisper grabbed hold of my very soul.
"Sweet baby girl, if I could takes pieces from my own heart and give to yours; I would mend your broken one, if only I could. A grown mature woman to the world; a sweet baby girl to me."
A sad tear slowly fell down my cheek. He released his hold from me. His eyes full of pain and sadness, he looked to the heavens.
"May God protect you baby girl." His hand took mine briefly as he stepped back from me. In slow motion he let go, turning; he walked away. I stood motionless as if a bystander. Even after the door shut softly and the footsteps faded; I stood silently still. His whispers still haunt me at night.
"Sweet baby girl." A sad tear slowly slips down from my face. "Sweet baby girl."

Journal Post : You don't Know me.

You realize my attendance; you recognize my laugh; but you have no indemnification of me. Even my perfume may linger in your memory. You are able to reach out in the darkness and know the feel of my softness; yet have no perception of me.
My life seems clear to you and understood, although the emotions of my past has not reached out and choked your very breath away. Your willingness is offered; I admit that.
You know my spirit and soul while questioning how I can say; You know me not. Your perceptions and vision are correct; the parts you know. My dear my trust in you, is more then I allow any other. Do not be saddened or confused. I am unable to be known in completion.
To know me, would mean to know all of me. You see my tears; but you do not feel the carving of their sting. You see them flow down my cheek like that of a river. And yet; you can not grasp the ice coldness they leave behind.
You see the wall I have built, never knowing my need for the very suffocating protection of it. In my awkwardness to mask me; I am content and safe.

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The Man's Heart

Her exquisiteness, our romance.

The commencement of life.

Simultaneously,

Brought a child.

My infant

A baby girl.

Daddy’s little princess.

Looking for shelter.

Immense brilliant eyes.

The wall cascades down.

She has my nose.

Time goes by.

The bench hard, cold and I wait.

She locks her hand around my finger.

The eye of the storm.

Her grin, resembling mine.

Calm and breathless.

She has her mom’s chin.

Stagnate.

Her first word.

And I am inactive.

“daddy”

The clock ticks, time stands still.

She looks around at my swish.

The doors open and motioned in am I,

Cuddle, love.

Yet the welcome is

Starched white.

My sweet baby girl.

We come to order.

Serene, peaceful

Acknowledged.

My sweet baby girl.

And the folder is opened,

It ends.

Rock-a-bye my baby girl.

A strong man.

Sings a lul-la-by

No more.

Tears.

NOT TRUE!

Her first steps.

The folder has to be a lie.

My baby girl.

Unfaithful,

With a wine kissed smile,

Our daughter?

Happy

Her mother seems.

At the broken man

I am.

“Not your biological one”

Our first kiss,

Easy,

She is,

Was,

Did.

Stole my child.

Not my daughter,

But will always

Be my sweet baby girl.

DNA,

Cruel joke.

My life,

A broken man.

The Beauty to Others is my Sadness

Alzheimer affects many. It goes beyond the person affected with the disease, it reaches out with sad angry pain to the families of the victim. Medical professionals try to explain it and ease the suffering and yet what it actually and always will remain is simply hearth wrenching. This poem is dedicated to all those who have felt Alzheimer's touch.

The Beauty to Others is my Sadness

Days on end in the early evening,

I see her sit on the deck

and look at the beauty.

The trees dance in the wind for her,

They dress in the finest of colors.

Rich russet oranges, fall like yellows and emerald green.

With each change of season,

They give to the beauty

Just for her to see.

Many hours she would stare,

at the beauty around her

Etching it in her memory.

I join her at times,

I talk and point out

The beauty around her.

She smiles

and speaks a few words,

So different from when I was a child.

Her once golden hair

Shines in shades of gray,

Her bright eyes of blue

show as a child lost and not understanding.

Her skin with wrinkles,

Does not tell her mind,

She is cold, as it turns blue with shivers.

I put a sweater around her,

And add a lap rug,

She looks at me almost knowing.

She turns back to the driveway,

Covered with leaves,

Not treaded upon by anyone.

She sits in waiting,

For something or someone, I sit waiting, hoping she might remember.

My heart silently cries,

For the beauty others see,

Is my sadness.

Alzheimer is her constant companion,

The only one allowed

Into her heart and mind.

I know she is in there,

I cannot reach her,

In another way, I know I have.

I am here,

To share with her,

The one thing she loved before.

The trees dance in the wind for her,

They dress in the finest of colors,

Rich russet oranges, fall like yellows and emerald green.

The one thing,

She loves now,

We sit in waiting.

My heart silently cries,

For the beauty others sees,

Is my sadness.

I gently pat her hand,

"I love you mother."

She still sits in waiting...