There is no purpose
to living in the past.
Or so they tell me.

This rushed bustle now
is all about the future.
We rush headlong
towards here or there
Little metal balls
Shot dizzily from
Sharp flippers
To the next
Destination.

I believe in the
Wisdom of the journey.
I believe
Santayana was right.
Forget the past
And we forever are trapped
Repeating mistakes.

I carry the past in my heart
In my genes
In each word of every day.
All that I am
Now
Is birthed from the past
Each second.
 

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