This week I'm taking part in the Mum Turned Mom Prompt linky, and the subject is: Confusion. At first I was wondering about where the word confusion had come from? Was it some kind of coming together of disparate things? Then I was thinking of the King Crimson song Epitaph (although I'd misremembered the lyric as 'confusion will be my alibi'), but then I thought of the people I have known who have suffered with Alzheimers, and something I heard a man say while he was watching his friend who is increasingly affected by Parkinsons (which is not dementia at all).
The things that happen to our bodies are most unkind.
This is a sonnet because I need practice at sonnets. I don't feel the volta quite works, but I wanted to get the turmoil across. Hope you like it.
Confusion
Signals spark, but something's unconnected,
the word will not appear inside his mind.
She says it for him; is again affected,
her smile is tight and yet she remains kind.
He doesn't want her kindness or her care,
he wants to be the strength to which she turns.
But when his mind fails him again she's there
with sugared tea, she soothes all his concerns.
Yet still he wishes to participate.
He clings on tight. Will not just let things go.
And yet it's true he can anticipate
the days will come. The things will let him go.
And will she then enjoy her new freedom?
Or will she too fall to confusion?
(c) Cara McKee 12th March 2016
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