I was in a very introspective mood when I wrote this, on Professor Dumbledore and his fading memory.
Yesterday I forgot Magic
My spells, my potions, my entire sense of being
The students were surprised
Fellow teachers just stared At me
Taking a walk outside the mess of turrets and fieldstone that is Hogwarts
It is cold once I trip on the icy steps
My hand hits the frozen surface of the stone – How tender, wrinkled, red it looks
A chill of pain surges through my body – Cold
Today, while my students were all waiting
I never replied --
What amazing wood patterns there are on my desk – They look so delicate, painted on
Varying forms, varying arrangements, varying widths
In an assortment of brownish tints—chocolate-coffee- russet-mud brown-golden brown
With the cool yellow light from my desktop reflecting off the larger spaces
Portraying the small areas of my desk in a shimmering nimbus of golden yellow light
Against the deep black abyss of my office
I could spend hours just looking at this desk
And it is cold, the cold wind confuses
The wind speed rushes to bite at my raw face and neck
And the top of my head – When did my head become so bare?
Now am I scolded in front of my students
Wasn't it just yesterday?
I see them all – scared, afraid
Only call him Professor, they whisper in a fervent hush, don't upset him, he doesn't mean that
Why are they scared? Who are those people who take care of me? For years I haven't
Known, but I've known my spells
Potions
Magic
My study has been boxed up and rented out
I came down there once, the books, my dark elegant desk gone, so vacant
Old friends, students, teachers come to visit me
They no longer regard me with a look of respect, their eyes filled with admiration for me,
My legacy
All I see in their eyes is pure – Pity
Have they forgotten my incredible power, commanding wisdom
My ground breaking work My—
All they can see is old; with weathered skin and hollowed features
Sparce wisps of white hair – They see my wand hand shivering
Quivering, trembling beneath its light weight
It must be taken away
Instead of powerful announcements and speeches, they hear mumbling and rambling—
I've never heard myself ramble
And I've never seen myself in anything except for that long dark robe – How
Can they not see me in that robe?
This is not the way I wanted to go
Years when I've known my magic, when I have been the force --
And just yesterday, when it began slipping away, rapidly
Though now it's been years since yesterday
I've lost my purpose
And am left to study the leaves in the flower arrangement
The fragile green veins as they slice through paper thin leaves
On the pure white table in the spotless room
I'll be living soon
Well, please tell me what you think, I suppose it's Professor Dumbledore with Alzheimers, represented by all the line breaks, and breaks of thought, I would really like some feedback. Thanks!