Part One

Ever more frequently,

I lay on our bed

Of sit in a recliner,

Wondering 

What the purpose of my life has become.

Very rarely does the sun energe.

Optimism and joy 

Stay in penumbric shroud,

Their greyness

Envelopes my heart, soul and mind,

Like a cobweb.

My picture of life,

Is evermore kaleidoscopic,

The jigsaw pieces confused.

I am getting to the point

Of wondering at the wisdom

Of trying,

To instil

The vigour of breath

Into the limp, dragging

Mainsail of my life.