words

Centrestage

The past struts in
Draped in aging robes
Around it swirls the whispers of mistakes
Adorned in scornful confidence you had then

The present Turns it head
Shining in the bright light
It covers the canvas with appreciation
Bared are its insides still forming and mounding

The smear of the past idiocies
The refusal of the presents insightful
My walls grow stronger by the minute
Evaluating all that has passed

In the center stage is a newborn
On a spinning middle that mixes the past and present
The building blocks that can’t be ignored
The past screeches
My present flinches

The future looks down
Waiting to be impressed
Only when repetition of past idiocies is discarded

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