In the quiet corners of a wandering mind,
Where memories once were, but hard to find,
The stairs creak gently with every tread,
Yet at the top, the purpose has fled.
Whispers of moments, both far and near,
Lost in the haze, growing unclear,
Where did the memories, so vivid, go?
Hidden by dementia’s shadowy throw.
Each step taken with purpose once clear,
Now halted by doubt and lingering fear,
For atop the stairs, in forgotten lore,
The reason for climbing exists no more.
Yet in the eyes, a glimmer remains,
Echoes of laughter, past joys, and pains,
For even when memories start to wane,
The heart still sings its familiar refrain.
In the embrace of a moment so fleeting,
The past and present have a chance meeting,
Though dementia might veil the stories we store,
The essence of self, endures evermore.