When time is near
Accretion wants clear,
What we’d so stored
Or kept without accord
In reverie or deed,
Now seeks mnemonic ear
To rule on dire needs
Of memory yet sane,
Soon fated to erode
Endured unlikely road
Ignoring alleged shame
May well be seen a gift,
Said but a way to go
Beyond mind suffered pain
Save be dementia’s frame!
Poetry on a canapé 
To me, dementia brings back bad memories.
C’est moins drôle pour les proches…
Your comment speaks the truth, and I thank you for this. I too have close and intimate memories of the sorry state of this affliction. However permit me to say that your comment speaks to the discomfort of the witness, and not the pain of the victim. My present thoughts and feelings on the subject speaks to reach out specifically, and solely to the fated, ergo the victims. Maybe another time will be for the witnesses. Jean-Jacques Fournier
This moving poem reminds me of a French movie ” se souvenir des belles choses”.
But, in my opinion there is not an easy separation between victim and witness. They have interchangeable role.
Your are absolutely right as to interchangeable roles. However I can only repeat what I replied to a previous reader’s comment, and I quote “My present thoughts and feelings on the subject speaks to reach out specifically, and solely to the fated, ergo the victim.” I might add that when I wrote the piece I was doing so as the victim. If you can imagine this, from such a perspective, it is hard to imagine yourself as victim and witness simultaneously. At one point victims can’t even remember who they are let alone who and what role someone intimate may be playing. P.S. Nice touch “se souvenir des belles choses”. Thank you for that.
Jean-Jacques Fournier