For my mother and all victims of Alzheimerís

Iím like a book I know Iíve read
but stare at on the shelf in vain
oblivious how the intrigue ends

I gaze into the eyes of friends
but canít recall my role or claim
the sagas our shared past once penned

the silence deep inside my head
is spreading like a slow inkstain             
my story should be there instead

to fill the book Iím sure Iíve read
but from re-opening refrain
for fear I would not find my name

the only place Iím me again
as darkness stretches out its reign         
to any chapters which remain
is in your love
                          and in your pain

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.