Aphasia, a silent thief in the brain, Steals words and leaves confusion in its reign. Born from strokes, injuries, or tumors' plight, It dims the mind’s communicative light.
Broca’s makes speech slow, with effort strained, Words stumble out, comprehension maintained. Wernicke’s flows with fluent, nonsensical flair, Sentences tangled, lost in the air.
Global aphasia, harsh and severe, Robs all speech, leaves nothing clear. Anomic’s hunt for words, a quest in vain, Names of objects lost, causing pain.
Primary Progressive, slow and unkind, Language fades gently, leaving silence behind. Speaking, reading, writing, all can fall, As aphasia's shadow overcasts them all.
Therapy offers a glimmer of hope, To reclaim the words, to learn and to cope. Each type distinct, each journey unique, In a world where language no longer speaks.
With effort and care, some skills may mend, Aphasia's grip may slowly end. But for many, the struggle persists, A constant battle where silence insists.
In hearts and minds, patience must reside, For those on this difficult, silent ride. Understanding and love, the keys to unlock, The world of aphasia, where words seem blocked.
