ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH NORMAN
You once told me that, “Our conversations are our prayers.”
Toward the end, my friend, your world became small,
Your eyesight became blindness, your hearing silenced,
It was difficult to breathe and the wondrous smells
Of the trees and grass were invisible to you.
You needed a wheelchair to navigate those long halls, and those long halls,
With the shouting of other people’s emotional pain, infringed on your serenity.
There were times even god may have seemed to be running away
From the confines of what would never be home…..
[Please see my poetry/prose for the rest of the poem.]
If we are not yet where this old man is, we will be soon enough….