I’ve lived with the future and the past
but never with my present,
fetched for moments I thought would last,
as they were well spent.

I’ve gone miles adrift of my conscience
by seeing memories slip away,
they try floating with burly defiance
and not drown in the stack of hay.

I was told to hold on to words
spoken in the finest hours of many lives,
yet I scattered them like shepherds
and poked their existence with rusted knives.

I am not a slave to the time God
or a souvenir for the realm of memories.
I’m just a fool at sea without a balancing rod,
battling the infinite boundaries.