I am not as I was

I am not as I was, dear flowers –

this buffeted, battered body

to whose contact you recoil

this body hooked on drips

which will not heal

was all I had to make a stand

to make myself heard

to give you birth

and to love you.

I may not be as I was,

but I give it all to you.

I am not as I was, my friends –

days drift into other days

drift again in so many ways –

unforgetting what time does –

I haven't been the best of dads

and of friends –

but please, watch over them

for the sake of what I once was.

I am not as I was, my love –

you know I wrote because I was

and you let me – checking the ties

with our daughters weren't slacking –

you were the mountain

shielding and guiding

feeding the hopes of us four –

and when I finally realised –

we silently had to unignore

the swelling in my abdomen.

I am not as I was

rings like a testament –

a raucous admittance of defeat –

forced to throw the towel –

I fight, I am fighting!

But soon I won't be any more –

leaving you my friends

to watch over my loved ones

– and you my love

to watch over our flowers –

Soon I won't be any more –

but tonight I am –

not as I was

– but I am –

“non sum qualis eram” Horace, Odes, Book 4, 1