The Past that Visits
Oh, how I hate you.
Like rain hates the sun,
Like good hates evil,
Like flesh hates thorns.
You remind me of my mistakes,
Show them to me with perfect vision.
Yesterday, you didn’t speak to me.
So, why do you today? Is pain your mission?
I don’t want your smothering touch.
I turn a deaf ear to your stinging accusations.
I hate the very ones you love, for
You court them as a lover courts passion.
You’re so very good to many,
Yet, so demonic for me.
I will, one fine day, leave you behind.
They call you ‘Past’—there, should you always be.
