IS THE CURE ON ITS WAY?

I sit here each day, my mind wandering

Where do I go from here, pray?

Am I destined to fritter away what is left

Of my life, sitting here every day?

My legs, they hardly function

My arms, they are rubbish too

My neck gets so tired I find it hard to explain

The feelings of frustration to you

I daydream about what things might have been

It is silly, I know, and depressing

But, mainly, I ask myself why do I bother?

As carers do my washing and dressing

My retirement was to be idyllic

Three months of the year in the sun

The rest of the year I would fritter away

Enjoying each day one by one

Fate has dealt a blow that is bitter

MND is surely no fun

It robs one of life bit by little bit

Not to be wished on anyone

I try hard to remain somewhat positive

Think about what I can still do

Unfortunately, the list is not very long

But I still have a voice, that is true

I can carry on writing my poetry

Or whinge, as I do in my blog

I could write the odd article about MND

And how everyday is a slog

I can still shout about how bad life is

Being stuck in a flippin’ wheelchair

Doing nothing else but computing

When I’d much prefer to be elsewhere

But, there’s light at the end of the tunnel

A new culprit has reared up it’s head

Though I don’t know if the research will find

A real treatment before I am dead