Marcy

You might think by the title,
This is a poem about a bubbling stream,
But sometimes things really aren’t,
Exactly what they seem,
In this case it’s about a nursing home,
A soap opera that lives and breathes,
While who and what the actors are,
With caring and compassion that we believe.
 
 
First of all just let me say,
Thank you for the care you gave my wife,
But in many real aspects,
The place forever changed my life,
Mistakes I made I tried to correct,
But fate was unkind to me,
And some things that went unnoticed,
Even I wasn’t supposed to see.
 
 
For a time I called it the house of death,
With residents placed there to slowly die,
And the pain I felt for periods of time,
Seemed to cloud a clear blue sky,
It’s common knowledge that I’m far from perfect,
Yet I found special in it’s sterile halls,
And when the darkness comes each night,
The memory comes to call.
 
 
It’s hard to watch love slowly die,
Even harder to reach for someone new,
With all the things I’m sorry for,
I still found a dream come true,
Though gossip there ran rampant,
And judgement lived in lies,
I found emotions in it’s halls,
Love that can never die.
 
 
I wish the caring angel I found,
Still held me in our bed,
In so many ways I’m forever changed,
And the feeling still isn’t dead,
Down the shiny waxed hallways,
Where the nurses and aides live and breathe,
No one seems to notice,
The patients go home with them when they leave.
 
 
Pain can come in many forms,
And angels can wear different clothes,
Yet gossip kills so many things,
That the heart already chose,
Some of them aren’t affected,
As they so often deal with death,
And though love died inside it’s halls,
Another still lives there yet.

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