The Past looks right at me,
with those big, glass eyes that
sparkle even when it's dark out.
They are all-knowing eyes, and they
see through time and space.
The Past touches my high-***** cheek and whispers so
sweetly, calling me to innocent, bright springs
and free, young summers where I was evermore myself to revel in.
The Past is telling me stories about a time when I dreamed so many dreams
and I feared nothing and no one.
I wasn't afraid of love and I wasn't afraid of exploring and only being.
The Past is a tease, making me warm and wet for days it knows
I can never have back.
And the Present grabs a hold of me with burly arms thickly corded with
muscle and persistance.
There's no running back in a slow motion reel, and running forward
into the arms of that mysterious stranger Future is scarier
than what hides in the dark of the moon.
I'll settle for an even pace and a prayer.