The Past and the Pending

There is no future there behind you,
That is what is called the past.
It is a dead place; it is cold there.
It only seems alive to you,
Because you splash it with memories,
Scoop the emotions out of yourself
And smear them across what is blank and still.
Memories.
They cannot be brought back to life from the past.
It is a dead place; it is cold there.

Just because you can imagine the future,
does not make it true.
If anything, if you can imagine it,
That is how the future will not be.
The future is alive; it is spiteful.
Try to tame it and it will make you feel foolish.
The future is that heavy pit in your stomach,
The shame of overstepping your bounds.
Dreams.
If anything, if you can imagine it,
That is how the future will not be.

Here you are holding the hand of each,
The past and the future.
Leaning too heavily on one, then the other.
They cannot support you here.
They are wisps.
Ash and vapor.
They cannot support you here.
Stand on your own.
Still take their hands in yours.
The past got you here.
The future will nudge you where to go.
Patience.