I look back at the past and it strikes me like art.
We spent those days splashing through invisible paint.
Revealed years later as we lie in dark rooms.
Life is a stage.
We played our part.

I look at the present and it feels like a war.
Everyday there's another battle to be fought.
Lost some comrades along the way;
trapped in memories I forgot.

The future is a shifting plan attempting to be set into motion.
Like a melody in the head that's yet to be written.
Like a day spent purposely thinking silly thoughts
in order to ensure a night full of silly dreams.
It's like trying to predict what the monument will be
to commemorate those who served in a war
that hasn't even started yet.