The Past

So, I let my past flow down
That path where yester-things
Restively stay; waiting, perhaps,
In glories, or rues -

Like moon and flame differ by Feel.

So, I treasure nothing like this moment
That I Know; its potent and flaw,
I know I must own.

Joy is a gift, pain a gift.
And the drab in-between -
That, too a gift.

Until a moment goes by
And gone, we never can tell
What it could have been.

Until a moment isall but gone
We sometimes don't know
We could have made it be.

So, I walk my conscience down
The river, and let my soul renew
It's craving and never letting the
past come diving.

© Jude Ifeme

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