This is what happens
    when your own past--
Twisting and turning
    with you at some
       midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all over
      again at once all too
          fast,
Overlapping you, heart
     and soul, strenuous
         in power;
   Precious memories
     posted in
       unchartered future;
Each note of thought
    wearily clings, too
       often
  But a scene with  
      yourself, demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past  content,
     drifting you to
       give-in, just to soften
  The unintelligent trail,
       past wishes revived
           in ardor:
For, without the pain of
     the past, can there be
         future?

            
                     -by
           Hakim H. Kassim.
          (d. March 25, 2024)