My Arthritis

by Glen Martin Fitch

If once more
I could move just as I please.
Some days are not so bad.
Some days I cry.
You know, I feel it
in my fingers, knees,
My body's breaking down.
I don't know why.
Just thinking of the past
makes me more ill.
A future life of pain
seems cruel and strange.
And yet there comes a time
when sitting still hurts more
than getting up
and facing change.
The past is gone.
I know it in my heart.
And yet I long for you
through out the day.
I have to face a life
with us apart.
This is the hardest thing
I'll ever say.
I must move on.
I need to set you free.
I have to ask you
not to talk to me.


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011