Vestiges (reworked)

Some vestiges remain……
Some are lost in yesterdays’ mists
Some cling happily, few sigh sorrowfully
Few non committal remain~

Pulling back memory’s curtain
Peeking in wistful concentration
Clawing fogs of hallucinations
I attempt to grab vestiges of reality~

A paradox it is as I hang on to sanity
What seems fine is a moot point with others
My realities being mine solely, others disagree
I continue to hold on to remnants of me~

Pressed petals, dry leaves are they in my life’s
Autobiography, their fragrance, happy memories
Associations, an integral “me” gone missing in mists
Of minds’ dunes of time…

Frantically I seek me dazedly, they think
I’ve lost it, little do they know I am there curled
Up in fetal pose to ward off inimical forces, vainly
Stitching tattered vestiges of self in a hurried frenzy…

Am I just a forgotten book on a dusty shelf?
Trying to make it home disorientated? Know not…
Life’s compass gives mixed signals, clueless, I tightly
Hug remaining vestiges of me

I ask not for pity nor understanding or acknowledgements
My foibles, idiosyncrasies aid me in retaining me for me
Your memory is a pressed flower kissing my life’s book
I exist in the vestiges of solely me~

(if ever ALZ claims me-you can find me in your heart if mine ever touched it or in my scattered vestiges
all over the internet in poems and verses)

Teaching is leaving a vestige of one self
in the development of another.  And surely
the student is a bank where you can deposit
your most precious treasures.~  Eugene P. Bertin


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