The present flows rapidly behind me, as hard as I try

To hold a precious moment in my tremulous hand.

It slips. It’s gone; I watch that golden instant slide away

In the rear-view mirror of my chequered history,

Adding to all the endless acres of slurry and mud.

 

Our past; the opaque, unfathomable morass

Of what once happened, and can never happen again.

All the happiness, bland indifference, and pain.

We try to stem the ebbing tide, we employ deception,

Muddying the water for our own protection.