| Don’t open your eyes Try not to see Things are no longer Where things ought to be That voice—is it her? Behind a closed door She calls you a stranger Your mother no more Breathe through the moment Turn, turn your eyes The past you imagined Was all lies, lies, lies Things are no longer Where things ought to be Who is this stranger Is it still me? 
"The book overflows with some of the most eloquent poetic moments in print"
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Heartfelt poem. I totally get it...really good.
ReplyDeleteIf we are an accumulation of everything we do, imagine if after all you did you weren't the real you x
Oh thank you Gerry! So rewarding when simple words, simple rhythms invoke the same feeling in writer and reader
DeleteJust this morning I heard an elderly tell of how her husband was drifting into senility.
ReplyDeleteSo the poem could be for her, read this way.
Who is this stranger?
Is it still He?
So true, it could definitely be read this way.
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