Regrets

He’s so forgetful, angry and hated
dementia is unsubstantiated.
Days are a confusing spuddle and nights
a muddle of regrets and haunted frights.

In your distance, you deem me petty, spurn
my insight’s assistance and now you’ll learn
losing keys is not an anomaly
uproar and chaos now normality

demanding patient presence addressing
small clues before they worsen, distressing
in an avalanche irreversible
sealing off a land once transversible

where we could have met for a quiet word
instead of calling me absurd, you’d heard
perhaps a semblance of sanity might
have slowed this sorrowed precipitous flight.

Inspired by: Unsubstantiated, Spuddle, Forgetful and Anomaly.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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