If We Can Make it Through

How is it, to live in a moment so fleeting it becomes the past?

To stare into the depths of yourself only to find a face so far and foreign–

To discover our ancient legacy, the wrinkles becoming evident

In the rhythm of a brook, winding through the ravines of aged skin.

How did it feel to take our first steps?

An instinct only now coming to comprehend–

This newfound feeling, we discover, has forever been felt.

How will it feel to take our final breath?

This newfound feeling, we discover, has forever been felt–

In the solace of silenced winter snowings.

How does the night . . . ?

Hold a breeze, a train of thought, never meant to be blown out–

And yet blown out – onto this page – as ideas that might be

Forgotten.

Only to flow eternally – on the threads of this past

From the woven airs of night

Lost in the winds of my soul

If we can ever make it through?

The answer – It lies beyond our grasp

Past 

This past