Words float through the air, off-key and jumbled,
Unsure replies are confused and mumbled.
Synapses fizz, make misfired connections,
Rust-laden hinges resist corrections.
I am still here, though the world spins too fast,
Their words hurt my ears; their meaning won’t last.
Aged doorway to your mind once oiled and quick,
Dementia dulls; you’re listless, lethargic.
Door shuts out others; the lock soon seizes,
Dark keyhole denies access and teases.
The door to my mind sits heavy as oak,
Sends words to my throat; they wither and choke.
Does light still filter through that solid door?
Memories masked, you become more unsure.
Conversations twist so fast and so free,
Your mind’s doorway shuts: murky mystery.
I peer through the mist, notice faces pass,
Present times confuse; I seek solace in the past.
My rhythm is destroyed, lost is the rhyme,
The clock’s loud ticking has ticked, ticked, ticked time – away.
5/16/2026
The Words That Got to Me
"I am still here, though the world spins too fast, their words hurt my ears, their meaning won't last." "The door to my mind sits heavy as oak, Sends words to my throat, they wither and choke." "Your mind's doorway shuts: Murky mystery.:
I know you are young, so you can't feel these things yourself; therefore, either you watch someone who does act in such a way, or you describe it like you imagine how it would feel. Either way. you painted a realistic scenario of some of the sad happenings to the mind when people get old-- "The clock's loud ticking has ticked, ticked, ticked time... away." very good! What a sad way to end one's life. A very thoughtful poem, sympathetically and originally expressed.