Poem: My Sonnet To Bruce Staff
By StaffSeptember 12, 2014

My Sonnet to Bruce
By Mary Bloomer

Those tatted, twisted tangles in your brain,
They breed the sadness in those eyes of blue,
Wreak damage, cause dementia – mental pain;
There is no mercy in the waste they do.
You sit almost immobile in your chair;
You must depend on others to be fed;
They give you baths and brush your ungrayed hair;
A Vander-Lift will hoist you to your bed.
I see that tear roll slowly down your cheek.
It’s your response to music soft and sweet.
You process what you hear, but cannot speak.
No words will come out right – no phrases neat.
Only death will free these snarls and turn you loose:
“I hope in dreams you’re free, my gentle Bruce.” Staff
Author Staff

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