This sickness
Of dwelling in the past
Of not letting go
Of refusing
To accept change
And embrace the wonder
Of the present
Is not what God intended
For decay and ruin
Are the fruits of this neglect
And distance and isolation
Follow closely
Memories of what was
Are not meant
To be a prison
But a source of joy
And the sadness
Of the passing
Of what was good
Is not meant
To weigh us down
There is something wrong
If we idealize the past
Because it was
Just as full
Of fear and evil
As the present
We’ve only chosen
To let this be forgotten
These selective memories
Do not serve us well
If we **** the present
For a past that did not exist