Collage of Dementia

 

Collage of Dementia

 

Ideas.              Abstraction.                Love.               Cannon Fodder.

            Punctuality is essential unless unwanted.

 

But never be early to a funeral, especially a cremation,

                        Unless of course cultural preferences demand it.

 

            From Copenhagen to Sicily, L. A. to Moscow,

new dementation arises.

                        Red hot sticks, cold conversions,

Night deposits.            Where will it end?

 

            Star light, star bright explosions.

Buildings from the sky, fireworks in the heavens,

put shame to Aurora and Borealis.

 

A sickled moon, striped stars provoked to

                                    Darkness of sub terrane

Middle earth again?

                        Maybe a hobbit or two.

 

The                  of                     still a joke? Or

            Meaning          Life

                        Some English yoke?

Yet, Chaplain died and so did he

            Who sought to make you the rulee.

 

But Darkness lives and always will, for

                        In the brightest of days,

Ye shall find the shadows.

 

Cloak and dagger with a new bit of juice

            May not be seen, but might see you.

 

No trust, no time, not even in mime

                        For silence can be the worst

            Enemy.

 

Accompany uncertainty, enter reality.

            There is no meaning! Or is there?

            Individual decisions. Meaning is only what one perceives,

                        Not only what was meant.

 

Hideaway to Heaven or Hell.

            Who’s to say?             Certainly not you!

Only decide – lay your life as you will

            But don’t roll out of bed.

 

            Don’t slide on minute marbles—

Or is it grains of silicone

            From footprints in the sand?

 

Ancient Barbarians to skillful Assassins.

            Yet men of weight are bountiful

            In nature but how in society?

 

How will successors read,                  comprehend,

            Will they understand?

                                                            Doubtful.

 

                                                Oxen are still alive.

By—Howard Shipley

**First published in WSCC Among These Hills Second Annual High School Anthology Spring 1990.

 
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