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I'm ready now to give up on words.
For years I've been telling anyone who would listen
what it's like.
I've been using words for that because they were handy,
available, popping to the fore as needed.
And then the words began their disappearing act,
which started slow and seemed innocuous
until it snowballed down the path of my life
taking no prisoners
and leaving me a pauper for words.
I know what it has been like in words.
Now what will replace them?
This is a time of change:
I gave up the piano, I can give up words
(hardly a choice, since they are the rats
leaving this sinking ship).
What will remain when I can no longer say
what it's like in words?
What it's like in fabric?
What it's like in paper and paint?
In quiet introspection and observation?
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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