It is what it was and will always be, the pipers pipe on, a discordant memory now, words fail me even as my thoughts jail me and no bail from this one.

Waking from sleep should keep until later in the day.

The Dreamtime calls me and I dress to wander the plains,
across long forgotten pains, but it is what it was,
no but's or because, because if there was the point would be lost.

I tag myself in these lines to remind me sometimes that I'm real, that I feel and I peel back my eyes to squint at the Sun, to set my face forward and run.

Though changes are rare they occur,
in my Dreamtime,
I feel it.

A bit of me lives in the future, but most in the past, the present don't last, look it's already gone, so I'm in the flow, now, then or when and where does it go I don't know, but it is what it was