in-beautiful brutality

I've been watching him cling, with one hand around the throat of darkness and one hand intertwined with light. He battles violently... intentionally ... passionately... with a steel-cored will, wrapped in red velvet, that leaks it's color onto the white sheets that cradle him. Watching the tearing, the breaking, the wretched agony that he remains at war with both breaks my heart and enrages me. I want to fight for him, with him, in place of him. He refuses gentle and his body rejects silence. There's a brutality that drains the mind of reason. Reality of the pain gives birth to emotions that there are no words for ... words that haven't been invented yet.. and if they have, they've been forgotten so that life can resume and humans can breath without suffocating on the memories of times like this. I, however, want to remember. Time is literally consuming him alive and I want to be present with him by capturing time on paper. I want to remember the time that took my father's life into it's hands and devoured him.  I want to capture what I can of him, time is all that is left right now. And I won't go gently either. And so I write him into these words and I commit to keeping him alive through what is shared here in the many seasons ahead. Today he continues to fight ... he's lost his ability to speak his words, though I see them form in his eyes... I hear them form in his pain... and feel them climb through his skin when I'm near him. This is where he is at ... in the company of an in-beautiful brutality.