Today is a stream on a still day.
The water moves, but only just.
No land eaten, and nothing rearranged.
Not stagnant, but nothing changed

Yesterday is a roaring torrent.
Landslide filth that washes out progress.
Inking pages to sepia tones-
with better days owned by the ghosts and bones.

Tomorrow is a shallow frog pond.
Stench overwhelming, and constantly avoided.
Build your cities downwind-
out of sight, and out of mind.
Come to your future ignorant,
and yearning still for yesterday.