Older and Getting By

mikeschultz Sat Feb 25 2012, 09:24

My hands shake so I cannot draw, and I can scarcely write.
I have long feared the day when my faculties would leave me,
Terrified of the moment I would cease to remember
And step beyond recall into a world all my own. We
Yearn to know what cannot be known, as we name and number
The world around us all measured and scrutinized. What right

Do you and I have to not take part in Earth’s survival
As we stand, praying for a renaissance of revival?

Pencils and pens set aside, my hand calms to hold a brush
Stroking painted hues in expressionistic ecstasy –
I am form – I’m happy in a symphony of color.
One thing I’ve learned and know for certain is that it’s easy
To do what is easy to do. When not, it’s another
Story. Composing a poem is a matter of trust

As we enter into our understandings and accept
The pains of trial and error study method precepts.

My hands still shake sometimes when I type at my big-keyed board,
But most I use my voice recognition software to speak,
And I watch my words magically appear, tracing across
The monitor, symbols lining up straight across the screen.
Soon I will forget what they mean and know their painful loss,
Or not perhaps, but I’ll know somehow, that they’ve gone abroad.

Michael Schultz © February 24, 2012 (0759)