dear me

dear me,
I’m in my eighth decade
an octogenarian, is how I’m deemed to the public
and stamped with all-too noticable marks of death –
melanoma ridden age spots and a brain
not knowing how to do simple tasks.

I do dislike the fog hovering,
yet imparting clarity when it’s appropriate
when my life depends on such knowledge,
like now.
 .
this is why I write.
although frail and withered
from remedies man has made to conquer the evils dealt,
man’s homemade unnatural concoctions
have no place in my life, for
i can still climb mountains and dance a belly dance
in my mind
that hasn’t been altered,
yet the disease I was born with continues to rear the ugliness.
 .
I perservere
and for reasons only
the core inside 
knows,
I live now, to connect
that core within’s motivations
to share, so that you may learn, or at least
nod your head, so I know you understand.
 .
the wrenching of my gut, my umbilicle spirit
saved me from deceptive hands
cloaked and wiling to compress the air from my lungs
strength, forward, rejubenate, recompse, MEi knew that i had to depart from that life
to live to find the ME, that was lost, stolen, raped.
 .
my umbilicle spirit
gave strength to move forward,
rejuvenate and recompose who I am.
my umbilicle spirit
turned inside-out, to reveal all that is important
so I could dismiss all that is not.
 .
.
~dld november 10, 2010
_____________________________
dual writing challenges:
T10:  Words, Inc., Wednesday:
(1) fog, and (2) frail
The Muse Is In:  Prompt #86, Wise Elder
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One response to “dear me

  1. Pingback: Never give up « One Question A Day

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