Past in present future

The only vivid is the depiction of the past
The present is still an unfolding
And the future distant
And uncertain.

A conviction that is carried today
Was birthed in an event called history
Yet it impregnates us
Into the future
Living in the now.

Written in bloodstained ink
Is memory
Written in pencil led is the present
Written in conception
the future.

I remember this time last year
You next to me here
But I know when today disappears
The future tells me
Your presence will never be there.

RE-BIRTH

This poem is my attempt in interpreting the of story Bryon Widner. This one really took awhile to write. The story echoes a narrative of what I’d call “second chance.” As much as I’m interpreting what I read, there are parts where this poem is auto-biographical as well. It is my hope that you resonate with the tone and emotions depicted in the poem. 

SECOND CHANCES…

…are hard to come by.

 

The PAST is at times like bloodstains on white colored fabric.

 

This STAIN
one that would never go away
it stays
there…
Remaining on the surface.

A disfigurement of a former glory
even after washing
though
fading
still remains.

 

BUT

 

Like seasons where a caterpillar weaves up into a cocoon,
an anticipation occurs,
ugly takes a makeover,
in the form of a whole transformation.

 

BUTTERFLIES

 

Call it evolution
Call it rejuvenation
Call it a reincarnation
call it metamorphism
call it redemption
call it
to be HUMAN.

Widening the chasms of the past,

…who i was,
a fire breathing dragon.

to who I am,
now
inhaling back the flames…

…is not always easy…

…Even if it is as far as the East is to the West.

Erasure? is it even possible?
of one’s disclosure,
of an already written story,
the past forever.
To one being written,
the future
an unraveling.

 

 

...CHANGE...

Is it just, skin-DEEP?

 Or 

A Heart, REBIRTH?

Though murky echoes,

of past lingers by,

reminding…

The horizon speaks,

of another story,

pertaining…

Hope

amid the stains below my feet,

Faith,

amid the fumes of my confession,

in the anguish of breathing penance,

in the narrative of second-chances,

my restoration,

made complete by,

LOVE.

youth

youth,
this middle path,
a generation that will soon depart.
why attend to immaturity,
when seasoned hands,
have paved the way?
keep history immortal,
and the future with promises,
beautifully concealed.

remembering rightly

We cannot change what others think about us, but we can change what we think about ourselves.

We cannot steal another’s memories about us, but we can try to remember others differently.

As much as we’d like to erase the past, we are wired to remember, and the past will always be there, coming and reminding us in flashbacks.

But it’s better to not let the past rule our future. Let the past be cemented in flashbacks, but not embodied realities that determine whatever may come next. Like when the past tells us about our destiny.

To remember rightly the past, is to know that time is something fluid and moving, and whatever was is now buried, we mourn it’s passing and move on.

We cherish it’s short blessing and make toasts to what made our lives once filled with joys. We hurt whenever we think about how painful some ordeals were. The fact is that the past is not just filled with one form of narrative, or one theme. It’s mixed with both good times and bad. To remember rightly is to hold both these tensions together. Not everything in the past was a mistake, made by us or others. We redeem some form of the past by remembering that some were indeed good. And whatever was that hurt become goads that help us change into better people.