Prologue To This

Breaking the walls for ones within.
Admitting the fact that we’re paper-thin
I only want to see things clearer.
For all the days that lay in silence,
to bathe in the blood of experience:
It translates to our inspiration.
Holding to patterns of progression,
falling to failures or regression.
This point in time where the face wears on.
And holding on is fine for the ever long.
Straining now assumes indifference.
I’ll honour the memories of my past
and take to the day as it were my last.
Re-embracing all the simple
Holding to patterns of progression,
falling to failures or regression.
And what’s passed is cast away
as prologue to the moment.
and reaching forward now,
as one life accumulates
and saturates distorted visions
of what waits for me now.
The past is cast away
as prologue to the moment
and reaching for it now,
as distorted visions.
But what waits for me now?