Shapes Shift, and Memories
Shapes Shift, and Memories

Taking the form
for years,
a healer.
Or nurse, of withering tears.

Walking the wards halls,
heeding my patients calls.

Control, aging, and blending in
to this place, filled of fading
lost memories.

Everyone a ghost
of who they were.
I am,
caretaker of misery.

I know not,
my original form.
My home,
or family.
Stuck in this world,
ruled by,
thoughts of former smiles,
in a world of struggle.
The sicks simile. 

There is one room,
in this Alzheimer's ward.
Where I was
unable to control my form.

Taking the shape of
an elder's perception.

Once a young son,
a flower-child of the sixties.
Sometimes a forbidden curiosity.
Often former lovers reflections
humans, that made up,
their soul.

Today I changed into a man,
from long ago.
Tall and strong wearing a
dirty coat.

When she spoke the words,
"Father", her time was close.
For I knew he died long ago,
war bound, far from family.

Gazing down to this woman,
with power to change me.
I put my gentle hand on her fail bones,
smiling, silently I whisper,
"Welcome home."
Only one thing is impossible for God: To find any sense in any copyright law on the planet.
--mark twain
Rob Cave

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