It seems ironic, time goes in reverse;
and our future has already gone;
much of our past, we still rehearse;
and it continues forever to live on.
Of course, the present always exists;
it’s the springboard for what is to be;
and yet, our past, stubbornly persists;
not allowing me to become me.
Some say that our future is very bright;
there’s no limit to what we can be;
but still, somehow, no future’s in sight;
for my past won’t set me free.
We cannot survive life’s Summer;
with a heavy coat, and boots for snow;
all life becomes just a bummer;
when we won’t let last winter go.
How is it, the future is already gone,
even though it’s yet to be;
while some of the past lives on;
refusing to set us free?
If you find this poem to be repetitious;
then, let that long night become past;
you should become more suspicious;
so that new day is allowed to last.
How difficult it is, to set things straight;
teach me to look to the future; and how.
Meanwhile, the only way to relate,
is to first focus on living life NOW.
The Cardboard Breadman 7/19/21.