In his chair he sits all day,
An inner sanctuary for him to stay,
Confusion, anger and memory loss,
But in the chair he is still the boss.
He struggles and strains to deal with life,
Even simple things are filled with strife,
It's sad to see him in such a state,
And in his chair he sits and waits.
It's a comforting place for him to go,
I am sure it is, but does he know?
About the Creator
DAVID PRIOR
I write poetry, when the mood takes me. It may be something topical or on occasions I have a request. I take one day at a time, never take anything for granted, and believe that love and laughter make the world a better place.
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