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Click hereWhen words
no longer emanate
seperate
from thoughts and mind
caught within the
gray
forever
trapped inside
always remember
the once control
of tone and timbre too
of alliteration
incantation
creativity pursued
the finest brush can only stroke
until hands do shake
the loss of words
just another
cruelty of fate
Well, is nice the right word? Yes, I think so. The poem captures a part of our lives and does so both well and gently.
Such a terrifying prospect. Can't imagine living that reality. I could definitely feel the anxiety and fear in this poem too.
It's a horror, Lesse. Sometimes people live too long. Wife and I have decided that it wont happen to us, and hold to that promise inspite of where we are now. Can't imagine it.
My bff just found out her great aunt, once a poet herself, has PPA in which one's brain losses its ability to create and process language. This thought horrifies me and found its way into my writing.