Photo by Wonderlane on Unsplash

she flies on high,
hoarding kites in the howling sky,
a dance of death in space’s grace,
ignoring imagination’s rolling embrace
she lingers in fulsome clouds and beams
of light that fuel the daydreams of our schemes;
dementia’s breath, a fleeting wraith,
slowly haunts impotent imagination’s faithless faith
wisps of poetry loom far and wide
mere mortal’s puppets in a glove.  

Ghosts whisper poverty’s hold
decisions ripple, stories unfold,
bold sentiment and unforgiving romance
lead us all a merry dance
as we navigate life’s swirling cosmic dance,
where ghosted shadows refuse their chance
to wander through the void of space
clasped in imagination’s ethereal embrace;
sunlit clouds to dreams aspire:
touch the darkness, reach up higher;
yet the death of thoughts untold
as a dementia-blasted tale unfolds
impotence of minds that refuse to soar
still drift through time’s silent roar.

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