WINDOW PAIN
From my window
I see them.
They walk. They talk.
They come. They go.
Some do not know
That I used to do
What they do.
And the rest likely won’t remember.
A leg that used to help carry me
Now anchors the rest of me
On this side of my window
Where I watch the flow
Of life.
Once having the joy of giving
I can now only receive
Searching for value
As I become an item
on a chore list.
I struggle to hold on
To parts of me that can
Still give to you
To at least contribute
And be of some value
On this side of the window.
The other side of the window
Doesn’t miss me
But I long to be
Who I was
When I walked out the door.
I miss the me
I used to be.
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This is a wonderful poem. Thank you for visiting my blog; Im pleased to have found yours 😊
Christine