By and by,
the past, it passes –
date-raping purpose
through peering glasses:
pregnant pauses never lasting.
Every vanished thrill
restarting futures
on a windowed sill,
shadows casting mimes
in stills
as long will live the passion,
– hungry –
fuelling moments full to brim.
Just as quick, another morning
dawning – time to pass
and kill; murder,
just another constant,
one more loss on
sudden whim as
whereupon man solders on
to play the night another song
for day by day we carry on,
to pass another past
along.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 October, 2017