The Forgetting Game
by Carl Wade Thompson

Starting over at dawn
getting old isn’t easy
as memory continues to fade.
The nurses plan out my day.
I’ve become a series of tasks,
routine my everything.
My thoughts are a stray
that doesn’t know it’s way home.
Crossed the river Lethe,
drinking too deeply of its waters.
I’m a husk left in place.
But sometimes I remember,
those faces I call my own.
When my sons come to visit,
I can’t recall their names,
but I know they’re mine.
As they hug, I grip tight,
a lost child coming home.
Every visit is new,
as I struggle to remember
I’ve faded more than the last.
Each night as I go to sleep,
I pray to remember
As I drift on Morpheus’ wave,
I know I’ll start over at dawn.

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