Wither away.

I watched you change
for a thousand days -
a gradual decay
from the mastermind
of strength of will,
to a feeble child
and the mind’s own slave.

Those gardener’s hands
turned to ones as
slender as a seamstress -
and teeth stronger than a horse
changed to falling, coarse,
brown stalactites.

A mess,
of crumbling jaw,
muddled thoughts,
and mis-matched cords -
long worn and loved,
but crumpled over time.

I watched you strain,
saw the clouding decline,
felt the reign over time
of a grand duel played
between memory
and remains,
until nothing survives.

Just some books.

And your scarves.

Those things, I made SURE that I saved.

I wear them most days -
and I cry,
or I smile.