Who you were, is not important,
It is an identity set in the past.
Who you could've been, is a fantasy,
But it doesn't mean impossibility.
But when you live in the past,
Basking in glory that has faded,
Smiling at the memories and ghosts,
Life will continue to forge ahead,
Leaving you behind in the dust,
Burning your memories into rust.
Or if you choose to live poor,
Born rich with limbs, speech and sight;
Begrudging the piteous state your,
Complacency has landed you at,
Waiting for monies to drop from skies,
Through get-rich fast schemes -
Then you are living off worst,
Than those still dwelling in the past.
And you are further from reality,
Than those who live in fantasy....
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar
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