Remnants/Shadow Land

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REMNANTS

Remnants of Christmas linger on,

Though most of the red and green has gone.

Here silver trees point up to the sky

Enchanting us as we walk by.

Like Dicken's ghost of Christmas past,

These ghosts weren't really made to last.

*

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SHADOW LAND

We are asked to use the words in blue

I think of the world of dementia

And I try to get a feel

For the way the  world appears to those

Whose  world has become unreal.

Is it full of ethereal nonsense

That doesn't make any  sense?

Is it effervescent or turgid,

Misty or all too dense?

Is meditation permanent,

Is perspective all askew?

Is demarcation a bottleneck

Where only the grey seeps through?

One trusts one will never know it,

That other-worldly state,

One hopes that the loss of ones own mind

Will never be ones fate.

*