Dementia, I hate the word.
It rattles in our family tree
like a shaker full of bingo numbers.
We sit around wondering
which name life will draw
to turn reality into nonsense.
The twisted miscreant
is a well-known villain
skewing our perspective
with its bottleneck
of nightmare visions
that play as unwanted re-runs.
Swimming in a turgid river
of what if’s, we seek escape
through avoidance.
Drunk on the effervescence
of bottled hysteria we gather
together to ignore ticking bombs.
With the line of demarcation drawn
there are moments of artificial Zen
where ethereal hope surrounds.
Damn the chaffing burlap of fear
that keeps us trying to forget there might
be tomorrows full of todays we can’t remember.
©Susie Clevenger 2012
Comments
It rattles in our family tree like a shaker full of bingo numbers.
AND
the chaffing burlap of fear
Dementia is a chilling prospect and I like the way you approach it, no artificial zen, and despite avoidance, it comes and settles quietly ~
Drunk on the effervescence
of bottled hysteria we gather
together to ignore ticking bombs...
So well done, Susie. Scares the wits out of me, but very well done!
K
BTW Your poetry is wonderful and that is putting it mildly!