Dream Births

It is that time of year again: Parkinson's Awareness Month (April). As I've done for the past few years, I've written a poem for the occasion. However, this one is a bit different in that it doesn't address Parkinson's Disease directly, but could apply to any number of tragic happenings and conditions that threaten our future and dreams, leaving many hopeless and feeling helpless.

Yet based on my own experience dealing with such events and diagnosis these past six years, I think there is a different perspective to absorb. With that thought in mind, I present my 2017 Parkinson's Awareness Month poem for your digestion.

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by R. L. Copple

I checked the map,
I picked my goal,
I planed my path,
I was ready to roll.

The road was wide
providing the room
to fulfill the desires
sucking me into gloom.

The way was easy
so I struggled less
and enjoyed addictive
pleasures, I confess.

Then tragic detours
force-dumped my rare
bucket-list of hopes
into a grave of despair.

Leaving my only route
a narrow, climbing path:
rocky, exhausting, austere—
drenched in grief’s wrath.

Among peaks and valleys—
hardened by sun, droughts,
freezing ice and snow—
I clawed through my doubts.

Yet somewhere within,
I found the inner drive
to put one foot forward
rather than let it slide.

I’m not going to lie,
the trip was a pain,
the struggle: surreal—
it drove me insane.

But when I crested a peak,
panting from thirst,
more dreams were born
as they did at the first.

Dreams more precious
despite all the loss;
they became more valuable
due to the high cost.

Now I know that my
destiny is given wings
when my dreams die
and are no longer kings.

I allowed divine passion
to gestate fresh life,
birthing new dreams—
carved by His knife.