In Total Poverty Of Mind

In Total Poverty of Mind

In total poverty of mind, the old man sits by the door,
Seemingly confused by the reality of the present,
While locked into some needless torments from the past.
He is alone, completly consumed by former passions,
Now long gone in time, but not yet fully erased,
From the slowly shattering depths of his mind.
Startled by his own racing thoughts, in sudden panic,
He quickly jumps to his feet, almost falling over.
He momentarily climbs a non-existent broken stairwell,
Still so vividly fixed in his wandering imagination.
Reaching into a pocket, for a wallet that is not there,
He signals to his barber to keep the change, again.
His right hand touches the bristles of the new haircut
Forever etched into the recesses of his fading mind.
"Who are you? I don't know you! I want to go home!"
He cries out less and less frequently, every day.
He is at home, but in his increasingly shallow mind,
Home is forever somewhere else, where he has been,
While in truth, perhaps he may never know home again.
He senses the dawn, alert to the sounds of the robins,
Opens the door and wanders down the quiet, dark street,
But now one which is no longer familiar to him.
He tugs on the leash of his long deceased dog.
"Let's go home, old scout," the neighbours watching
Hear the wanderer say, as he heads back to his home.
He sits down in the battered chair by the door,
As if waiting for the next time his dog wants out.
He stares off into space towards some abstract distance
Where life has kept his truncated mind tethered,
'No,' he cries out, but he finally gives in to despair
And closes his eyes, as if no one else is in his world
And no one to care, even if they did dwell there.
The happy child in him, it seems, was never truly there
And neither is he there now, or so it might seem,
While love still hovers, awake in the old man's soul,
Never to depart, even in his total poverty of mind.

W. Diane Van Zwol

Copyright 2007