We like the Past because we know the way
it all turns out. We cannot be surprised
by unexpected twists, and traps disguised
in primrose lose capacity to sway.
With that, the Present simply can't compete;
the Unknown crouches, spider-silent, hid,
waiting to spring and drag us down amid
the bones of plans we never will complete.
Look back, the path is lovely, green, well-lit--
no shadows hiding monsters set to prey;
Ahead the dark repels the light of day
and could conceal an Eden, or the Pit;
The Hell of it is, there's no going back.
Shaking, we watch the Future fade from black.
1 comment:
There are layers there, with darkness between them, holding them together. I like the way it works.
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