Looking back I see,
strewn across the years,
parts of me
that I've left behind.

Parts of me that've
been torn from me.
Scattered they lie behind.

For every wound,
Every death of a dream,
For every loved one lost,

a part of me stopped
moving with time,
refusing to go on.

Looking back I see
they've ceased to exist,
staying with what ceased to be.

But still I go on
because I have to,
knowing what I've left behind.

Knowing that I've to
leave behind many such,
still I go on.

And when I reach the end,
What will I be?
There will only be left,
A part of me...