The Stroke

[Miranda]

This room has grown smaller.
Your world has become bordered
By it’s walls.
The walls shelter, protect – and imprison.
You are too tired to fly.
Too tired to even think about it.

Locked behind your grey eyes
Is a life of love and busyness,
A life of taking care of others.
How did you come to this?
So helpless? Helpless.

It was a Sunday when first you found
Yourself on the floor,
Unable to explain why, or how, or when.
Recovering, slowly, puzzled, while the clock
marked time,
Inexorably marching on with steady tick,
Until the handles touched the hour –
It struck a zenith.
The stroke. Sometime in the night.

Cruelly, it robbed you and took away your light –
And left your life hanging on a second….
Your life held on - but the light?
I mourn for the light as if it were your life.
I hate the sound of the two clocks,
Pacing, the slow passing of the afternoon –
Unsynchronised, discordant, depressing.
I want you to get up. I want you to laugh
And tell me this and that about your day.
I want you to tell me what to do.
I want you to be there like before.
I want you.

Miranda

[amuse]

oh, Miranda...

[Miranda]

Amuse I wrote this awhile ago. The person I wrote about is free now and in heaven. But I was real sad when I wrote it and I think few things can be as cruel in life as a stroke.

Love Miranda