There’s a handprint on the wall of
The nursing home hall
And I know that they don’t want to be here any more than I
Dirty charcoal stain
From where he propped himself up
I’m convinced we find our way to souls that understand us
I almost get my fill of darkness here
And they know someone loves them here
Even if the love is tough, no matter if their end is near
I’m stuck somewhere between acceptable and crazy
Not well enough financed to be eccentric instead of lazy
The madness here is one that I can just grasp
Flirting with my sanity, the edges of my mentality intangible even to me
Emotion and sensation come with wordless deprivation
My only possessions a need of expression and bouts of depression
My existence is a strange thing
Fleeting yet immeasurable
Stark but plentiful
Boundless in its possibility but nowhere near infinity
Only infinitely able to reach through time and space (the depth & circumference of my ripples in the world pond)
If I come to understand the navigation of this place
If I make friends with the mirror, with the aging in my face
With the changes in my pace, with my plateaus
As part of a marathon divine race