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