This was written recently by my sister who suffers from Alzheimers. I should not say "suffers" because she cheerfully accepts the different plane that it has set her on apart from the <normal> world. A very gifted author and poet the disease has cruely manifested itself by upsetting the language function of the brain, yet I find her latest works intensely moving and brave.
This now, is called: The Gifts
Now, I am thinking about, all our presents.
But you must tell me: What sort of them?
There is The Past, which givens me a huge shelf, where, I can decide over
two options: One, could be a glass, full of joyment, pleasure and bliss
So, when it comes to an other type of feeling:
All, I could say: "Please, open my eyes, and I will be able to keep,
all my joyment -glass, for ever.
What about the other types of blocks of TIMES
I have being thinking About: The Past,
So where does the Future come!
Oh, there is only a properly, single Future
The Present is the only part of those blocks, in where, we are already,
Waiting for to reduce myself.
It took, a long time, before, I realised that I have been giving
thousands, and millions, gifts,
All during my lifel