The past is but regret-filled chapter,
In my own autobiography.
A guilty, unwanted, forgotten blur,
Whose happy, smiling face escapes me.
But living in my past,
Will only make the present worse.
And as the memory is fading fast -
I cannot wait until it is nothing but a blank space,
Nothing but an empty verse.
The future is an epilogue,
Set in a time ages hence.
It hides behind the subtle mist and fog.
Encrypted codes, which I can make no sense.
But thinking of the tomorrows,
Would make me lose sight of the present.
And fantasise a world of no sorrows.
A world that is fair, and simple.
That is full of smiles, and free of torment.
What's left is the struggles of today,
With the past lost and forgotten.
And the future much to far away.
We can hope, and we can dream.
Live with colour and love with gleam.
In the moment, and in the now.
The present can be simply amazing,
Full of fireworks and full of wow.
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