The Visit

This poem seemed to go down well when I read it on a community radio station yesterday. Brought a tear to the eye of the segment host and promoted some useful discussion, I thought

The Visit

The complaints start on entering

Nothing is as it should be,

Nobody listens to what I say,

How could my children do this to me?

I let the saga continue unfettered,

Rarely clarifying or challenging,

Noting the inconsistencies and part truths,

The unwillingness to consider alternatives.

Is it in a box that I place you now,

Rejecting the veracity of your ‘truth’?

Or is this just part of the downhill run,

Heading for a type of total confusion.

We have to remember that this is only part

Of the person we once knew and loved,

Pieces do remain and can be found

Amongst the litter of memories of time past.

I cringe at Facebook posts that wail,

About the loss of people so frail,

Romanticised grief so prevalent,

When my wish is for this to end.

Am I heartless and unconcerned?

Do I suffer this from filial piety alone?

Has my love for my mother gone?

Disappeared amongst the blackened foam.

I do remember good times aplenty,

When her body and mind were strong,

And she helped so many when needed,

These times are hard to grasp though.

So many have had similar happenings,

Sometimes the loss rapid,

Oftentimes lingering and slow,

Challenging values and empathy.

The wonder of life seems to be,

In the uncertainty it entails.

Joy can be brief and morph itself

Into a pain so sharp.

Getting bogged in loose sand

Is much better than doing the same

In a time with so much grief,

It like all things will pass.

What can we learn in times strange?

So many things it seems.

Given the chance to reflect

On life and all our dreams.


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