In Poetry

What if I want to rage

Like a storm at sea

Against the words

I heard –

The firing squad.

 

They shot me down

To great despair,

‘Progressing regression.

How long not clear’.

 

No fear of death

That is so inevitable

But living into oblivion

While still here

Is sheer terror

 

Where can my

Scream

Be heard?

Parkinson’s Community LA
Hand's Solo by Amy Sommer Childress