The Old Man in the Mist

A lonely path through clouded memories
his fading mind once sharp and clear, now lost
in hazy fusion, time betrayed by hours
no longer counted in his universe.
Yet hesitantly climbing misty steps
his feet remember how to walk. At times
the fog will briefly lift and thoughts appear
in clarity before confusion reigns.
Within the muffled silence softly breathes
a sigh, as memories escape and bleed
into the shadows, lost once more to light.
Things I remember, he no longer can.
He wrote the words, he sang the songs that kept
me entertained. His stories often heard
by flashlight, snugly tucked into my bed.
A treasured childhood memory from him.

I take his hand but cannot walk this walk
of his…the path that leaves an empty shell.
The shell still dear now wanders toward a light
that offers sweet release, but no good bye.

© 2019 Helen White