A journaling of life with Grandma, as she jouneys to the land she knows not...called Alzheimers

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Dusk

Whispers of prayers are spoken in the night
from inside the heart
Where and when no one hears

There are no tears
Only an island, a ship on the open ocean
a solitary bird floating on the wind

Who knows the pain
shares the grief

Is it spoken
Is it held inside

It is not like a flower that grows
But a weariness that lurks on the doorstep
keeping your senses alive in the dark

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