How did it happen? A poem about PSP
How did it happen? From where did it come?
This monstrous illness known only by some.
No treatment to help, no cure is in sight,
It strikes with a vengeance, like a thief in the night.
It's symptoms are many though diagnosis not clear,
Victim's held in suspense with unending fear.
As each stage develops a part of self goes,
As it renders them helpless to life that each knows.
Confined to a wheelchair and later to bed,
Unable to eat by self, now must be fed.
Sometimes a feeding tube it must be.
As they think of life past now prisoners not free.
Deprived now of speech, eyes fixed in a stare,
Others could think, "that person's not there"
Don't fool yourself people, the brain is intact
Each word that you utter - he knows exact.
Sometimes he may signal with a finger or two,
Until he's unable to show them to you.
Is this not torture - this sentence to death ?
They struggle to live until the last breath.
What will it take for a cure to be found,
To give hope of life before they're in the ground.
This evil invader is called PSP,
With research and knowledge someday it won't be