The ghost passed by me
In the garden disguised as wind,
A barely noticeable breeze as succulent
As fresh raspberries when summer
Arrives as a memory of being young.
It was the future me, trying to whisper
A final warning into my unlocked ear,
To slow the pace of my wanting,
To stop longing for what will never
Be possible, to stop striving for
A health that will never return.
I am nothing now, just a lost soul
Wandering around the garden
Of my middle age.
R 31/05/2023 12:30
All I’ll say about today is that pain of mind and body result in a failure to fully concentrate. I will not beat myself up about it.