Through heavenly shades, thoughts wander to roads once traveled,

Desperately lucid, velvet rays from days gone by warm upon the face of uncertainty,

Recollections that would outlive us all, fleet and conspire against an idle present


For amidst the icy throes of winter, there is little trust to place in the future, as shadows beckon from the recesses of a mercurial mind,

One may shield their eyes from the moments to come, but bellied stones remain turned, impervious to the divine,

Eternal facts comprising all that we are and all that we lack, a tale of innocence, perpetually lost, forging what will be written


For the past is, and will forever undress to simpler times, corrupted and amended to suit our experience,

It gives insight toward the nature of the unexpected, the totality of action, and the darkest, emptiest hours just before respite,

As plans are just that, and when fortune inevitably eclipses the familiar, we might find ourselves in the moment that would lead to all other moments


So with faith in the void, and with eyes open, heed whatever call emanates from the depths of a still mind,

And look inwards to the future, so that the present too, may one day be the sun drenched past.