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)