The Past

The past is held back by a glass ceiling

It cannot break through unless we grant it feeling

It’s neither articulate nor a rare talent

Using everyday patience the past remains silent

Why give it life, when it does not ask

We never know what we may unmask

Thoughts dead and buried are long gone

We’ll have to sit on that graveyard till dawn

Rising up a ladder, the past won’t get better

To the mind, we will always remain a debtor

Climbing down the mind’s perch won’t be easy

The worth of the moment will seem measly

The tide of the past may be held back by emotion

Not the kind that sets the mind in motion

It’s the one that follows the watcher behind the glass

To whom even a heavy past is as harmless as a blade of grass