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Poetry By: Philip Roberts
Literary fiction

A look at Alzheimer's from my mother's point of view as she was rapidly losing her faculties.

Submitted:Jan 17, 2011    Reads: 31    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

I wander round the darkened room
And wonder who I am,
I try to think where this is
And forget the night I ran:

Terror in the full of night
I must escape the gloom,
I'm fleeing through the streets at night
Escaping killers in my room.

It's not my fault at all you see
I'm a little girl of nine,
I'm searching for the pathway home
I'm searching all the time.

My gaoler tells me off, he says
I almost burnt the house down,
But a policeman told me I was good
And a banker, and a clown.

Strangers take me by the arm
And drag me to their car,
They say they're carers sent to help
And that we won't go far:

But they're working for my gaoler
A man I'd love to kill,
He stole me from my youngest son
A man whose name is Phil.

I must escape my gaoler
To report him to the police,
They'll lock him up for many years
And I shall be released.

I plan to kill my gaoler
Oh, I wish I had a gun,
I go to bash his head in
Then see he is my son!

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts


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