I wrote the first four stanzas of this poem when I caught a glimpse of depression. That was near the beginning of June. I suffered bad news and to boot, my rotator cuff was damaged. I decided, after missing 2 weeks of boxing, that I should go despite my injury. The people at boxing are either victims of PD or volunteers. The victims have accepted their fate but are uniformly optimistic. To say they are uplifting is an understatement. I come away from a class feeling good. The class is my sanctuary. After today's class, I wrote the last verse which I think gives hope for a future. While admitting the inevitable outcome, I still have a vision of a cure. I have to be ready.
If you have been following this blog, you will know I believe the brakes will be put on PD and the fitter the victim, the more that victim is likely to benefit . Just- exercise - exercise - exercise.
Changes
sit over here
come as close as you dare
we'll wallow in our painful review
we'll catalog our woes
into "isn't's" and "no's"
And qualify life's many changes
You read the review
Got a question or two
Don't ask if you can't stand mirages
they settle like leaves
on the green grass of truth
that comes with the death of those changes
But in moments of madness
alone in the night
you dream of an answer or two
then they fade with the dawn
and you know without doubt
You've got to create your own changes
Sadly forlorn
you accept there's no cure
and your god is just feckless and late
no time to repent
you need more than that
So you stand on a headstone and wait
you are waiting there still
but the night's drawing near
and you doubt that prayer is the answer
no cure and so what
hold on to the fact
only you can engineer changes
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