by Ross Rosenberg
Time marches on—
Measured, predictable,
Unyielding.
Tomorrow arrives without pause.
Yet, in a blink,
Today collapses into yesterday.
Memories—once sealed
In lead-lined vaults,
Sunken in the abyss—
Surge without warning,
Electric with the charge
Of moments long buried.
I’m thrilled by the sight of you,
But shadows of the past
Obscure the menace in your smile.
I hear your whisper,
But flinch
At the echo of screams behind it.
I rejoice in your promises,
But nausea rises
With the memory of lies.
I am drawn by your beckoning smile—
But my body arches away,
Muscles tensing against
The memory of reactive rage.
I hold your warm body,
Yet recoil
From the chill of your heart.
Stop! Identify yourself!
Are you the present?
Could you be the future?
No—
You are the past,
Hidden in the hazy glow
Of the here and now.
As a child,
I wasn’t afraid of ghosts.
But I am now.
—Ross Rosenberg
2/8/03
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