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National Parkinson's Foundation
Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research
Custom
Poetry
For All Occasions
About Parkinson's Disease
I AM A BIRD WHO CANNOT FLY
( Living with chronic disease)
I cannot fight the pain of life
For it has clipped my feathered wings
And I’m a bird who cannot fly
………..but only sings
I do not dream just any dream
I only seek the highest star
But I admit that even dreams
………can’t reach that far
I will not die just any death
And knowing moments to be few
I do not sing and do not live
………as other sparrows do
I am a bird who cannot fly
My wings are clipped forever more
But I know of a better way
to sail through heaven’s door
THE QUIET SPIRIT
(on Parkinson’s Disease)
Who is this quiet spirit who has come
into my world
Creeping slowly towards me as his mysterious traits unfurl
Discourteously intruding without asking to come in
With no consideration for the person who’s within
He walks in silent footsteps both
steadfast and precise
And slyly interrupts the daily rhythm of my life
He deliberately alters my step, my gait, my hand
And manifests himself in ways that I can’t understand
But the ruinous disease failed to
realize from the start
That he may control my movements, but he can’t control my heart
And that, my friends, is why I have come to realize
That his destructive nature will not be my demise
In fact I think I’ll thank him for
the favors he has shown
He forced me to consider certain failures of my own
He took away desires for glittering gems of uselessness
And revealed to me the treasures with which I’m truly blessed
He opened up the sky to me, and shown
the Spirit’s light
Into the window of my soul and lit the dark of night
God’s love was healing wounds where sorrow carved its deepest hole
And I knew that what possessed my body couldn’t possess my soul
I’ve discovered things about myself
which never came to light
Expressing thoughts for me had been a constant losing fight
But suddenly poetry came flowing from my pen
And thus this verse to tell the world how truly blessed I am
MIRRORS
I can’t pretend that life is sweet
For bitter moments sweep the breeze
Nor can I hide the ravages
And callous deeds of this disease
It eats away so hauntingly
The essence of my strength, my mind
What part of me, what little part
Unknowingly is left behind?
It is the contents of a heart
It is the contents of a tear
It is the strain of daily life
it is the pain, it is the fear
It is the night of sleeplessness
It is the dawn of constancy
It is the day before my eyes
That’s whittled to simplicity
Where victory comes in little steps
And mundane chores become a goal
Where looking into mirrors only
Yields reflection of the soul
More real the image of the face
As empty moments slowly pass
More shallow are the eyes that gaze
But deeper is the looking glass
Much more profound the silent thought
And sounds that gather in my ear
But often joy of endless depth
Is in the contents of a tear
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