Blue as the color, that no one considers,
Bland as can be, but no hint of being bitter,
The sounds that are heard are just another sound passed,
All the sounds of the birds become part of our past.
Green leaves that we’re blowing, are no longer showing,
Barren trees stand, of nothing but gray,
A ground covered in yellow, a day that is peaceful and mellow,
Will all become part of our past.
Selfish memories that just sit in our heads,
Even the memory of getting your very own bed,
Not grateful but taken for granted, these memories we have implanted,
Still become part of our past.
Only a few things here will stay with her in the present,
The memories of family, and some of her descendants,
But when the time comes, it will all be gone,
All memories she’s had, of her husband and sons.
The time is here, painful and dreadful,
Alive in a human body, but her memory completely forgetful,
Not the name of her grandchild, not the name of her own,
No recollection of food, a pencil, a stone.
The innocent are chosen, with questions as to why,
A loving grandmother, and we are forced to say goodbye,
The alarm goes off, just a ticking of the timer,
Another victim lost to the deadly Alzheimer’s.
We remember and we forget, we live and we die,
We loose loved ones, and see newborn babies cry,
But things my grandmother has taught me are things unsurpassed,
Memories that will never become part of my past.
By Travis Nealon