The sides are made of paper folded in creases
Stiff, bored, tired and lonely they wait
Never quite holding what it is they want
I lined the walls with every song
The tears of meaning and memory
And the realization of fate
If I could only sing
My life would be so different
But the gifts I have don’t fill up the box
What is it that a man is looking for?
Maybe it’s something more than his gifts
But is there a box big enough for desire?
Everything I want is better than what I have
I can smile but it doesn’t provide comfort
The box carries only false hopes
Everything I touched but passed by means something
Should I learn something new or just remember what I forgot?
The joke among us is that we have mastered our past
I don’t know what I will find
You can look at a hole of your own making
But will you ever discover your true self?
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Alzheimer's - Poetry