The Past
The past beats inside me like a second heart,
my yesterdays walk with me, it hurts,
it lies upon me like a giant's dead body
devastating, uncontrollable
dense with misery and sullied with remembrances
it plants its prey
cornered, jam-packed, and wheezing for reconciliation
in the maze of the current.
Anxiety, dismay, fear, an entreating melee
until finally, a submergence, a obscuring in the nadirs of depress.
Inexorable, ceaseless, strenuous the hunted
the past trails, the past stalks,
the past Hunts.
By Seth Yuhi Musinga
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