Conscious

You live your life with hesitance and blight
Of things which soon and may occur--or not--
Of things that passed which occupies your sight--
Though I, wait for none and, none I’ve forgot.

You are embodied, made, and ruled by old,
Enforcing you with shameful memories,
Regrets of failures endlessly retold--
Though I, need not remark my treacheries.

You were since birth betook to look ahead,
Then bathe within anticipation thus,
You brought the present time to when you’re dead--
Though I, would worry not the day we rust

So count the seconds, minutes, hours out--
Or live as I, eternally in doubt.