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Esther L Krenzin Nov 2018
A fragile shell of what once was,
decimated beyond comprehension.
Shards of a old life slipping away,
into the silent empty space.

Memories of loved ones,
eluding desperate hands that reach and seek--
For what is buried beneath the dust.

Submerged in perpetual darkness,
the stars have lost their light,
the moon has lost its glow.
Every infinitesimal shard of your very essence,
is engulfed in the empty space.

The empty space that exists outside time,
awareness,
and matter;
Hides in the desolate corners of your mind.

A invisible fog covers your soul,
stealing it away like a thief in the night.
And you are left unreachable,
a blank page in a book full of blotted ink.

The ones who loved you with every breath in their lungs,
surround and overwhelm with tear filled eyes.
Utterly helpless as you disappear.

Years pass,
and
you
Fade.
Vanish.
Evaporate into the empty sky.
Dead to yourself.
Dead to the world.
Dead to the ones who loved you most.

And though your gone, an empty space lingers in your wake.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
For Grandpa, who was diagnosed with dementia when I was five. He has disappeared and I cannot see anything but a broken shell.
Amoy Jan 2019
It’s a state of emergency
Lock down is in full effect
Soldiers have been deployed
People are running and screaming
A strong taste of chaos is in the air
The fog is so thick
The sounds of sirens is deafening
I heard someone scream suicide bomber or was it **** invasion
There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
Death is imminent and no one is safe
Steve Page Dec 2018
I sat, gripped
as my tears fought to tear free
from her vice-like stare
and her mother-strong hold,
each knuckle white with intent
and scabbed with rage.

I tried to prise her grip away
scared by the strength of her frail frame
but she bore down all the same
and her nails inscribed one indelible plea
for me
to stay.
Mum's still fighting.
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Hey, that's my Gran!
She's not ******* demented.
She lived on her own
in a house that she rented.
This is how it used to be
when I'd knock on her door
and shout "Hey Gran, it's me!"

Through her curtain,
a bi-focaled rim.
She threatened the Police,
"I don't recognize him"
Although I knew her,
she didn't know me
and from that day on,
this is how it would be.

Poetry by Kaydee
In memory of my Grandma, Mary.
She never knew me as a 'she'
Micah G Nov 2018
Your room is this way
Dementia
No ma’am it’s okay
Forget ya
Don’t forget those who have fallen to time. Stand with them and be kind.
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