A poem on staying present

Now Is the Only Relevance in Life

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

The past

is defined by our memories —
memories that fail us with every passing birthday,
withering away alongside our fragile bodies
like a firefly’s glow dispersing when the sun exudes its dominance.

What is the sun?
Perhaps the light beams are the truth,
distorting our frail memories
because they aren’t even really real.
Unless… are they?

The future

plants itself from the past,
as if only predicted to come again
because of the memories telling us there has always been a tomorrow:
yet the tomorrow’s become today’s and then, yesterday’s.

Studied as the probability theory,
some argue that the future will come
only because it has in the past,
but our past isn’t even a reliable source,
as it’s rooted in our memories that are all too easily falsified.

The present