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Norman Is In Ireland (apologies to R.J.Squirrel)

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Falling.  Bottomless.  Tumbling.
Bloodless,
painful joints;
Grasping

nothing.

Writing
to know You.
I is nothing with out U.

Writing this,
like this,
formless, meaningless….

I;

nothing

Meaning?
No meaning.
Am!

All I know, can know, hope to know, hear, see, feel:
no form. 

Am?
Was!

Pin-ball wizard!
Damaged hands.
Motion. Memories of motion; e-motion.
Broken/English, back-hand, left-hand, no hand.
No spin; dead ball.
For(n)ever!

Wish it’d “Go”!
But it won’t.

TTD


Filed under: Being Human, Death. And Life., Dying, Existential, Introspection, Loss, Meaning, Mortality, Musings, Qualities of Life, Stroke and Its Aftermath, The Blues, The Poem Club Tagged: disability, emotion, Existential, loss, Meaning, Pain, Poetry

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