My Mind: The Elusive Bird

When I was young, the palace was tall, strong.

It afforded protection and familiarity.

I could work my way through the palace,

finding information at my leisure to recall.

When I was young, I was real. Reality was real.

It could be sought after and found with ease.

Reality was tangible and never elusive.

I could take hold of it whenever I wished.

Now, as I study that sinister palace, I know

not where to enter. Nothing looks right

the shadows long and mystifying. The

ghastly doors like an abyss to the unknown.  

Once inside, it’s as if a jokester were having

a laugh. As though he rearranged

the halls and corridors from what was known.

Why can’t I find the old familiar things?

Reality is now an elusive bird, quite exotic,

and if found, celebrated with much joy!

How rare an occasion indeed, to remember

who I am, who I once was—and who you are.