---

The past is forever lost to me,
and the future
beckons to me, once more;

a door --

I no longer fear to look beyond,
where time and pain merge
into a vortex
of meaningless nothingness.

In the final reference of all things,
not only is the past a trinket
irretrievably lost,
but a friend, forever dying;
its presence stealthily fading away --
swimming, for its own shallow purpose,
for reasoned rectitude;
in the far far of opposites:
an irreversible direction.

It is true the future pleads,
and yet more true to say it bleeds,
blood of time and flow of thought;
future's cost is past been bought.

The door is there; it draws us near,
to tunnels filled with shadowed fear;
as remnants of the past lose sight
of vestiges of dawn's twilight.

Talons, razor-sharp and keen,
slice scare from dreaded visions seen
propel us through that waiting door
as past retreats -- to live no more.

Copyright (c) 2004 Jeff Mason